


A Lot Of Nerve

by Haitch



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, F/M, Gen, Non-Canon Relationship, [at least two people laughing alone over salad can be heard faintly in the distance]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haitch/pseuds/Haitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The poetry that comes from the squaring off between, and the circling is worth it; finding beauty in the dissonance.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A series of one-shots based on (and in part directly taken word-for-word from) the RP interactions between my Bansai (<a href="http://tamashii-no-kyoku.tumblr.com">tamashii-no-kyoku</a>) and my pal Shyra's Ikumatsu (<a href="http://ikumatsu-dono-archive.tumblr.com">ikumatsu-dono</a>) on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Doubt The Inexhaustibility Of The World's Supply Of Suspicious Men

It had been a long day at the Hokutoshinken. A long day of just about nothing, that is – a brief influx of customers at lunch and dinner, with one lonely soul in between, and other than that there was little for Ikumatsu to do but make sure everything was spotless and prepare ingredients in advance for the next few days' worth of ramen.

She'd already chopped and stored away enough vegetables for the next two weeks.

But the day, it would seem, was not willing to end just because the sun had gone down. Just as she considered calling it a night – maybe _because_ she considered it – there came another customer.

It was a man, but just what _kind_ of man was impossible to guess. His hair was clearly unnatural and what she could see of his face was entirely blank. That was easy then, she thought, startled by her own bitterness, a troublesome one. He had the most curious fashion sense she could recall seeing – in her shop, at least – from the perfectly-tailored trenchcoat to the shamisen on his back. Some startling, horrible combination of a rock star and an action movie hero... or worse.

Apparently unaware of just how jarringly out-of-place he looked here, he bowed and said in a voice that was somehow both gentle and brusque, “Good evening. I hope you do not mind my visitation at such an hour... Ikumatsu-dono, was it?”

Ikumatsu's eyes widened. She didn't recall ever seeing this man before, yet he knew her name. Where could he possibly have heard it? Even his manner of speaking struck her as suspicious; in her experience, people who spoke like that were either dangerous or pretentious, and she wanted nothing to do with any of that.

Still, he was polite enough in his proceedings, and she figured it would be better not to question him. After all, there was a possibility she would never have to see him again after this.

With as warm of an expression as she could muster, she bowed and greeted the stranger in turn. “Yes. Good evening; please, have a seat.”

It seemed he'd been waiting for her to say that, as only then did he approach the counter. His footsteps were bizarrely silent on the hard floor, but he still made noise – as he got closer, distorted strains of music from the headphones he was wearing carried over. Even as he sat down on the second stool from the right, his posture rigid, he showed no intent of taking them off.

“I have heard quite a bit about your shop,” he said, as though he knew exactly what she was wondering. “It was about time I came to try for myself.”

That wasn't much of an explanation. She sighed and turned away, only to find herself glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. The more she observed this man, the stronger the feeling that something wasn't quite right grew, weighing her down.

If only she could figure out what exactly was bothering her. For now, all she could do was remain calm and watch him carefully.

She realized suddenly that he'd spoken, and seemed to still be looking up at her attentively for a response. It was rude to keep glaring at him like this; she shook her head and briefly bowed again. “Sorry. I'm not sure who would be telling you about a place like this, but I appreciate it. Was there anything in particular I could interest you in, or would you like me to surprise you?”

“I haven't eaten ramen in a long time; I daresay I would be content with anything. Hmm... what is the special today?” If only there were any inflection in his voice, his attitude could have seemed friendly. “Do you get new customers often? This shop has such a warm atmosphere to it, I wouldn't be surprised if it drew people in... but I apologize for bothering you with small talk.”

“Oh?” Ikumatsu tried to give the appearance of being genuinely interested by his words; it was the same thing she did for everyone. She'd heard every kind of small talk possible before, she was just thankful there was nothing controversial being brought up. “It's fine. Warm atmosphere, huh? That's not something I hear every day.” She chuckled, relaxing slightly. “Come to think of it, you're the first stranger I've had here in a while.”

As she spoke, she paced the kitchen, gathering ingredients and rearranging their locations a little. “I didn't mean to seem so standoffish. You already know who I am, so I suppose I can spare you the introduction.” She tilted her head in his direction again, setting down the cabbage she'd been staring at. “And the special is shoyu ramen. Can I interest you in that?”

“Sounds delicious,” the man replied simply. He seemed to be glancing around the shop now, but it was hard to tell with those sunglasses. What could he possibly be looking for? “You really don't have new customers often? I stand corrected, then. Perhaps you have not been promoting it yourself...?”

Still trying to carry on the semblance of being relaxed and lighthearted, Ikumatsu replied after a slight hesitation, “It's not something I've thought of doing. Promoting the shop, that is.”

She gave him a weak smile and proceeded to prepare his order. The ingredients were all already in order; it didn't take more than a minute. The solemn gloom she could feel herself spiralling into was broken by a little laugh. Somehow, amusingly, this particular bowl looked heartier than ever.

After a moment of admiring her masterpiece, she placed it in front of him just like she would for anyone else.

“Enjoy,” she said as cheerfully as she could.

The man nodded once and picked up the chopsticks with an odd sort of finesse.

A few seconds after he started eating, she turned away, starting to clean up whatever mess she'd made. There wasn't much – however much she absorbed herself in her work, she found herself glancing at him at increasingly more frequent intervals, making sure he didn't need anything, trying to read him, wondering why the _hell_ he was eating so quietly when you'd expect him to be slurping like everyone else.

It wasn't quite silent, but it was close enough for all it was doing for her nerves. But there was nothing for it. There wasn't anything to talk about, and the man didn't look much like the type to carry much of a conversation anyway. If his words hadn't told her that much already, the fact that he still wore those bulky headphones did.

She figured it was late enough that she shouldn't be expecting anyone else; only complete weirdos and runaway criminals showed up at a time like this. It would be a good idea to put everything away now so she could close up the shop as soon as this one left.

Just when she got to that, as though spiting her for assuming he wouldn't talk, his voice cut across the stillness. “I am no expert on ramen, but...”

This made her freeze, tensing almost defensively. There it was – what _everyone_ noticed about her cooking. Couldn't anyone ever say anything else? Her back still to him, she waited silently for him to continue.

He sure took his time with it. “You needn't put too much value in my most unprofessional opinion, but if it makes any difference to you, this is the finest meal I have had in years.”

The tension drained from her immediately; she'd anticipated being offended and found herself almost incredulous. She turned to face him again with a slight, disdainful huff and a half-smile, mumbling the only words she could in response to this: “Thank you.”

She was never certain how to take compliments. For one, there was no way of knowing if people were really being sincere – the possibility of false compliments out of pity or duty, or because of some ulterior motive always made her uneasy. For another, she wasn't comfortable having to accept a kindness that was never meant for her.

But she set these thoughts aside, offering a more affectionate smile before she returned to the last of her work. “I'm glad you're enjoying it.”

A few more minutes passed before the man set the bowl down away from himself and leaned back a little with a contented sigh. It was the first show of relaxing he'd made since he'd first sat down – and it was accompanied by the first thing resembling a smile.

If only the smile reached his voice. “I apologize if it is not in my place to ask, but what exactly have I done to offend you? You sound most hesitant to speak to me.”

Her eyes widened momentarily before narrowing into a subtle glare. “Is... that so? Well, I'm sorry. It's really nothing you've done.”

Why he would ask such a question was beyond her. To Ikumatsu, who preferred only to speak when it was necessary – especially considering she didn't know a thing about him except for her own opinions – his words and actions were irritating, if not absolutely _infuriating_. Did he realize how much trouble he was causing?

At that thought, she realized something, and confessed before she could stop herself, “You just remind me of... of someone.”

The name of a particular long-haired ronin nearly slipped from her lips, but she managed to correct herself in time. A fear that he may have heard just a little bit of it, or that he even already knew what she was talking about welled up within her. She had no business in bringing up someone like that – it would not only put her in danger, but that man as well.

As much as she felt like breaking down from the embarrassment at that moment, she remained outwardly calm, waiting for the intruder – no, just _customer_ – to make his next move.

If he'd noticed anything odd, he made no indication of it, but that really didn't mean much. “Ah well, perhaps I was mistaken. And yet, it almost feels as though you've a quarrel with me.” He pushed away from the counter as he spoke, then slowly stood up, adjusting his sunglasses. “I do not intend to stick my nose in where it does not belong, and I apologize again if I have said anything I should not have. But I do wish you would be honest with me on this one matter: am I simply overtired, or is there something you're holding against me?”

At first, Ikumatsu was offended that he would even _suggest_ she'd been unkind. Her brow furrowed. The more she thought about what he said, the greater her resentment grew. It wasn't resentment at his suggestion, she realized, but at the way she'd been acting the whole time. He was right.

He was right, and this angered her. So much so, she could no longer hold her thoughts inside.

“And what if there is? First of all, take off those headphones! You shouldn't be trying to converse with anyone with those unfashionable things on. Second...”

She crossed her arms over her chest and continued, “Second, just what's with that outfit, anyway? Last I checked, we weren't in some low-budget action movie. And _third_...”

Now she knew she was saying so much. She realized the next thought trying to escape was perhaps the worst insult she'd ever given anyone. The scathing words sat at the tip of her tongue, ready for her to deliver the final blow.

But suddenly, from the recesses of her mind, there came a familiar voice, reminding her how she should treat people, even if she didn't necessarily agree with them:

_Practice kindness for its own sake._

That was all the gentle, reassuring echo told her. It had been so long since she heard him say that, and to hear it again, even as a distant memory at a time like this, was startling. She forgot what she was going to say.

"... Forget it.” She averted her gaze. “It's not like _you'd_ understand, anyway.” Letting out a heavy sigh, she looked up at the man again. He still looked amazingly unperturbed, his only movement being his hand sliding into a coat pocket and back out again. “Please, don't take any of this personally. I really don't have anything against you, I just feel uncomfortable tonight for some reason. I can't quite put my finger on it... I hope I'm not coming down with something.”

Just as the insults hadn't evoked any particular reaction, neither did this poor attempt at an apology. It almost seemed possible that he hadn't heard a word she was saying, but he gave a quiet, understanding nod.

“Perhaps I should be going then, before I have a chance to trouble you further.” There was a strange curve to his mouth as he spoke, something that almost seemed to suggest he knew exactly why she would be feeling uncomfortable.

With a slight bow, he took a few steps backward toward the door. “And next time, I'll try to dress more to your tastes,” he added with another hint of a smile.

“Now, where the hell do you think you're going?” Not only did he have the gall to accuse her of being impolite, but he was also trying to walk out without even the mention of payment. If there was ever a man in Ikumatsu's shop with a death wish, this was the one. This, more so than anything else he'd done, was unforgivable and, on the behalf of her late husband's honour, she wasn't going to let him get away with this.

For once not hesitating at all, she stormed toward the man, her hand catching his wrist. “You haven't even paid yet, and you think you can run off?!”

She started to glare piercingly at him, but the moment she looked up at his face, which still betrayed nothing, she found she could only stare. Her mouth opened to continue, but there were no words. The same discomfort she'd felt intermittently since his arrival struck her with a terrifying intensity.

But she couldn't back down now. Her free hand, clenched tightly into a fist and already poised to strike before she'd even consciously realized she might have to, was drawn back closer to her body. She could feel her own heartbeat, a little too rapid for her liking but steady nonetheless.

Though she was quite frazzled and had to look away to speak to him, she took on a more disgusted expression and added, “Besides, didn't your mother ever teach you manners? Honestly, people these days...”

“If you were to calm down for a moment, you'd find your answer was there all along.” Raising his eyebrows slightly, the man motioned with his head toward the counter.

Sure enough, there was money sitting there, beside the empty bowl. It was hard to tell from here, but it seemed like far more than the price of the ramen.

What a crafty bastard.

“And...” he added, almost contemplatively, “no, as a matter of fact, my manners are entirely self-taught. Perhaps I could use some pointers, but I suppose it would be best not to take them from a shop owner who would take refuge in violence against her customers.” He nodded again, this time almost in some sort of approval. “It seems I have underestimated you, Ikumatsu-dono, and for that I truly _am_ sorry. You've a most interesting melody after all...”

And what exactly did he mean by that? She would let the comment about her violent tendencies slide, since arguing with it would only prove his point more, but a _melody_? Perhaps it had something to do with those headphones he wore; he seemed like someone who enjoyed music too much. Or it could be some bizarre pick-up line, not meant to be taken to heart. Some part of her wanted to know more about him, rather than wanting him gone – but the opportunity for that had passed her by. For now, she'd have to relent and see if he would return some day.

Ikumatsu closed her eyes, looking down and smirking in amusement. “I'll accept that apology, at least.” She loosened her grip and the man immediately pulled his hand free, taking a step back. “But really, I should be the one apologizing for all the trouble I caused you. Next time you come by, we can be sure to introduce ourselves properly and start again.”

She bowed low, then, before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Thank you.”

This of all things finally seemed to surprise the man; he paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly – somewhat irritatingly – to one side. At last that minimal attempt at a smile returned, this time seeming almost sincere.

“I have faced far worse than this, I assure you, and every time it is the same; I only bring it upon myself. Now, if you do not mind, I have spent far longer here than I originally intended, and I've still a job to get to tonight.” It was very dark outside now, and it was anyone's guess just what kind of job he had or whether there really was one at all.

He turned away and stepped lightly to the exit, only to look back over his shoulder at Ikumatsu just as he reached the doorway. “The next time I have the chance, I'll be certain to drop by, Ikumatsu-dono.” His face reverted to the impassive expression he'd worn almost the whole time, and his voice took on a distant quality. “I may have a strange way of expressing it, but I'm glad we've met. Goodbye.” At that, he bowed one last time and disappeared out the door, leaving the shop's proprietress alone to wonder whether or not she would have been better off if he had never come at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, I am not even going to try to explain you a thing. Chances are if you're reading this, you were either directed here by me or went "now that's not a pairing I wouldn't have thought of, I want to see what this person thinks they're doing!" If you're the former, I'm not sorry. If you're the latter, I'm still not sorry. 
> 
> If you can't ship this because you ship Katsura/Ikumatsu, please look at some of the subtext and realize we do too and it's pretty much treated as canon here (also I listed Zura among the characters involved for a reason, he will have a role eventually...). I'm even less sorry.
> 
> Consider this a cautionary tale to all roleplayers who ship chemistry.


	2. There Are Things In This World You Might Just Be Better Off Not Knowing

On a brisk, moonlit night, Ikumatsu found herself taking a stroll. She'd already locked up the shop, and, unable to sleep, she had finally decided to enjoy the last of the pleasant weather while she had the chance.

Only to find her feet took her much further than she originally planned, far from Kabukicho and the overall atmosphere of the city, to somewhere she hadn’t visited in years. Somewhere she still remembered distinctly, and felt a certain eagerness to reach.

There were plenty of other things to see here – in a public garden, changed since she'd been here last into more of a park where many people would walk during the day – but to her, alone at night, all that mattered was one mundane little detail.

A pond, just off the side of the path, not too far ahead now. That was where she wished to be on a night such as this. She could remember every little thing now; each step she'd taken, the way the light of the moon had danced on the water's surface and cast a glow on everything around it, enhancing the details in the grass and the trees. And... she couldn't lie to herself, that was what she was _really_ remembering, the time she'd been walking here with Daigo and he'd accidentally slipped and fallen into the pond, the both of them bursting out laughing after a short pause. A lily pad sitting almost decoratively on his head.

Before she realized it, she was right at the water's edge, nearly having walked straight into it. She took an almost unsteady step back before realizing she wasn't at all off-balance. Her focus shifted from memory to the present reality, taking in every little detail.

The fireflies were beginning to come out, adding their tiny flecks of light both to the air and the reflections in the placid water. Both hoping and dreading to spot more of her past life here, her gaze skimmed the pond's surface, looking at these reflections.

One of them didn't seem like any of the others. It was a shape as murky and abstract as the rest, but it seemed distinctly off, not to mention closer; on her side of the pond where there weren't any trees. She squinted, trying to make out what it was, looking up to where whatever it was being reflected from would be.

And when she found it – he wasn't hard to spot – her opinion on the matter was anything but pleasant.

Great. Just who she needed to see, the headphones asshole.

Suddenly the pond didn't seem to be filled with light and wonder – no, it was stagnant and probably polluted. She turned her eyes to the sky, letting out a disgruntled sigh. There was a moment of uneasy silence as she considered just turning around and going home at that moment.

She decided she still wasn't ready to leave yet.

In an attempt to make small talk, mostly because she remembered how impolite she'd been to him before, she addressed him: “It's certainly a nice evening, sir.”

The man turned to look at her, seeming slightly startled by the words, but not enough for her to believe her being here at all came as a surprise. “Indeed. A night such as this is most pleasant for a stroll.” No, surely he only came over here because he saw her.

Now he'd been greeted, he must have seen fit to take a few steps closer, but still kept a careful distance. He pushed his headphones back from his ears slightly – as though that counted as taking them off – as he bowed. “Fancy meeting you here, Ikumatsu-dono. I will not question your reasons for it, as one should be asking the same of me. But the moon is beautiful tonight... though I regret my lack of poetry for it.”

Ikumatsu pulled her arms close to her body, tucking her hands inside her sleeves. Despite the way her insides were tying themselves up in knots, she moved to meet the man halfway, soon standing only a few feet away from him with a calm expression that could almost rival his.

“You could play it a song, couldn't you?” she asked, then, smirking gently, she added, “but wouldn't you be able to enjoy its beauty more if you weren't wearing those sunglasses?”

This prompted him to smirk in turn. “Still stubborn about that, I see. I have grown accustomed to seeing the world in this way.”

That was more than just a literal statement, wasn't it – but he was right once again, the sunglasses themselves didn't really matter here.

The fleeting mental image she got of him tripping and crashing into things while trying to navigate at night was probably not accurate, but it was nonetheless a thing to be savoured.

If only it did anything to ease the tension.

He continued idly, “I did not expect to run into anyone else here, but I suppose it makes sense. This seems an excellent place to be alone with one's thoughts.”

“Well, I'm sorry your expectations couldn't be met,” Ikumatsu said, bitterness slipping into her voice. “It's not like I expected anyone to be here either, least of all you.”

Though she pretended to dismiss his words, she couldn't help but wonder about him, somewhere deep down. He could be hiding anything – even his shades, which were more likely than not just a poor attempt at looking cool, could be covering up some clue to his motives.

She could only scoff inwardly at herself for the naive ideas she was getting. “I don't even know your name yet, and I'm still arguing with you. I'm being unreasonable, aren't I?” She glanced away from him and back again, giggling suddenly. “But, would you mind if I was unreasonable one more time, and made one small request of you?”

The man hesitated, but the only shift in his expression was his mouth moving barely enough to let a few words out. “No, I... don't see why not.”

Part of her questioned her own sanity, but she took another step closer. “I was wondering. Perhaps...” Though she was still nervous, there was not a quiver or crack in her voice. The only thing that interrupted her speaking was her right hand reaching out; the backs of her fingers brushed gently along his cheekbone. “Would it be asking too much to allow me to see the world through your eyes?”

His eyebrows, which had been raised slightly at her touch, rose further, but he still spoke as though he wasn't surprised. “That is hardly an unreasonable thing to ask.”

Then his hand caught hers, holding her wrist firmly yet delicately. Hey, this was _familiar_. His fingers were rough, somehow seeming to be calloused by much more than some casual music-playing. “Would we not all like to better understand those around us? I suppose it depends on what exactly you mean by this request.”

At this point Ikumatsu was struck with the impression she'd dug herself a hole and fallen in. Obviously whichever part of her had thought to make this request expected him to refuse, and she was stuck now with no other option but to keep going.

She took a deep breath – a desperate gulp of air to her, but likely, _hopefully_ , not conspicuous from an outside perspective. “Your sunglasses. I'd like to borrow them for a moment. If it's not too much trouble, that is – so I can see the world from your point of view. I know it's not the same, but that's what I request.”

“Hmm? If that's...” Seeming to hesitate again, he removed the glasses carefully, as though doing so too hastily might cause some damage. “If that is all you ask, I will comply.” He held them out to her, releasing his other hand's grip on her wrist at the same time.

That he agreed so easily added to her surprise, so much so that she now almost didn't want to take what she'd asked for. And, after her eyes were drawn to his, she decided not to take them at all, her hand falling back to rest at her side.

His eyes seemed to be adjusting to the difference in light levels, and he did the same, glancing around a bit as though seeing the area for the first time. Almost looking... impressed. How often did he see the subtle glow the moon cast on everything, something she herself took for granted?

She didn't spend a long time staring; not only was he irritating, he also had a certain haunting, terrifying quality about him like this. She understood now, the sunglasses didn't only mute the world's brightness, they were a barrier keeping some part of him to himself as well.

There was something else there too, a sort of charisma that called to mind someone else she knew, and at that thought she knew she'd seen more than she was supposed to.

Ikumatsu could feel a blush rising on her cheeks, mostly out of embarrassment that she'd said anything at all. “I... understand. That's not it.” She looked down, her gaze now fixed on a firefly that had landed on her leg. She sighed; her warm breath dissolved into the cool air. “You see the world through that darkness. But am I correct in assuming you still see it that way even without those?”

His silence didn't seem either to confirm or deny this.

“I don't know what happened in your past,” she continued, “and I don't know where you hope to go from here. I don't even care why you're out here tonight.” She let out a nervous giggle. “It certainly is a lovely evening... oh, what was your name, anyway? We never got a chance to make introductions.”

“I have gone by a fair number of names; who I have been or will be matters little, only that I am here right now.” He made no move to return his sunglasses to their place just yet. “There is much darkness in this world; it would not do well to pretend I do not see it.”

Honestly, she should've been expecting a vague statement like that by now.

“You are unsatisfied with these answers, I can tell. But I fear you may prefer an outright lie to some of the truths I have to tell.”

This was all it took for her to shift from uncomfortable to tense. Immediately she protested, regretting how she sounded more sad than angry: “You don't need to say another word. If you're just going to lie, you might as well not speak.”

To both her relief and despair, the man fell silent. The firefly which was sitting on her flew away again; her gaze followed it back toward the others, creating a diversion for herself that she hoped would settle her troubled mind. But the longer she watched them, the more time she had to think over the troubling implications of his words, the look in his eyes, her own bizarre mix of positive and negative feelings.

Such a vicious cycle, escaping from one's thoughts by escaping into one's thoughts.

In her escape, she vocalized a string of her worries, some more audible than others. “I have this feeling that you... that I... shouldn't get involved with you.” _That I shouldn't be talking to you. That I should have just chased you out of my shop that one time. That I should have simply left when I saw you here tonight. All those things that I should have done, that any rational thinker would have done..._ “But I gave you a chance...” _You've brought nothing but trouble, but I got involved anyway because..._ “I'm... still just an idiot.” Her blushing cheeks and smiling lips expressed this cheerfully, but the tears beginning to well up in her eyes stated otherwise.

Silence stretched between them once more – geez, _now_ he was taking what she'd said to heart?

After what felt like a lifetime, he apparently gathered what few shreds of honesty he had together and replied softly, “You are certainly no idiot. You chose this because there was something you saw, something you wanted from me, was there not?” He took a step back, tilting his head slightly – without the shades, she could see his eyes looking her over as though she were something to be assessed. “Even if it was a poor decision, it was _something_. You strike me as one who has mistakenly trusted people in the past, Ikumatsu-dono... I would ask that you trust me, but that would be yet another deception and I do not wish to burn you as well.”

The faint sense of solace that this man had anything truthful to say at all was dashed in an instant as a sickened feeling coursed through her. Her heart raced and she could feel herself beginning to sweat.

“Deceptions, my ass!” She watched as if from a distance as her hand hurtled through the air at his face, connecting with a slapping sound that was not quite as satisfying as it ought to have been in the same place she'd so gently placed it only minutes earlier. He didn't flinch, or give at all for that matter, and that only fuelled her rage further. “I don't want to live in a world I can't trust! I only want to live the best I can each day, and if that involves getting burned a few more times, then so be it.”

Rather than back away as she expected him to, he didn't waver, his eyes now fixed on her – completely steady, unreadable. He spoke in a gentle tone that felt mocking considering the circumstances, “Very well, then. As you are _far_ too perceptive not to have guessed, I am not here on leisure purposes at all. I am presently in the process of a rather important errand.” He smirked as he finally put his sunglasses back on before adding, “Or, as you may prefer to call it, doing away with subtlety, a _murder_.”

At last, the uncomfortable feeling she had around him was shown to be justified. His words stirred emotions and memories within her that were unpleasant at best; she caught herself jumping to conclusions, but knowing that it might not all be true didn't help. The mere thought that this man could be even remotely connected to the people who caused her husband's untimely demise caused the sick feeling in her stomach to become almost solid, sinking like a rock.

Whatever was or wasn't true, this man was doubtless a killer: one who took lives without remorse, and had the nerve to tell her as much openly despite the chance she could tell someone they'd met. Then, it was no secret; he was _definitely_ one of those terrorist types.

But not the same kind she'd assumed before she thought it out – not simply one of the hooligans who'd call themselves “Jouishishi” for the sake of pretending their actions were justified, acting more impressive and threatening than they were. No, given his manner of speaking and how readily he could admit he was out to kill a specific target, he wasn't out to benefit himself by claiming to be bettering the world.

Did that really make any difference, though? She was soon disgusted with herself as well for even trying to rationalize his behaviour.

Without any real reason for it, the tears that had trimmed her eyes before began to roll down her face. “I'm sorry I wasted so much of your time, then,” she said, turning away once more, a subtle quivering in her voice. “I'll leave you alone now. But, may I ask you just to hear me out before I go?”

“Of course. I am always listening.” His voice seemed brighter than before, and there was an irony in the words that might have been amusing in another situation.

“That ramen shop of mine. Do you know why I run it alone?” She paused to gather her composure, only to find herself hesitating – would this really do any good? More likely than not, the man would disregard her words entirely, being who he was. But just like with her first unreasonable request, she had come too far now to drop the subject. This might not be taken seriously, but looking like a coward would ruin the chance he could _ever_ take her seriously. “My husband just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Call it bad luck or whatever you'd like, I still don't know all the details.”

Her ability to appear determined impressed even her; though her breathing was shallow and her legs felt like they could give out at any moment, she had to get her thoughts across. What other opportunity would she have? No longer trying to hide her crying face, she locked her gaze on the man's sunglasses.

“This errand, assassination, whatever – what do you hope to gain from it? If it's for the greater good, what is one life compared to all the others that will be left behind? Creating more problems for other people under the pretence you're solving your own... do you honestly think that will help anyone?!”

“You raise excellent questions, Ikumatsu-dono.” It seemed his good humour was inversely proportionate to how upset she was; now he smiled almost serenely. “And you are absolutely right. It is a good thing, then, that I am not _trying_ to help people. The greater good, you say? There was never anything like that. Such is the nature of war; no matter where you stand on it, it carries on.”

He was far too calm about this – more than that, he seemed strangely _pleased_. But the smile faded as he said, “I do not know where your allegiances lie, or if you are simply keeping out of the conflict out of a grudge or for your own safety, but I am merely following my own loyalties. This world is rotting away regardless of what I do, but I should like to think I am making _some_ kind of difference for it.” A dark sort of laugh escaped his lips. “What is it that you believe you are achieving by running a ramen shop? Not causing any problems of your own will unfortunately solve nothing.”

Despite – or perhaps _because of_ – this attempt at a rationalization, in Ikumatsu's eyes this man was no different from the others, weaving sinister thoughts into a web of noble ideals. She'd seen too many others being caught in it, drawn by the allure of doing something that seemed right but was far from it.

The most infuriating part was that he, just like another idiot who'd found his way into her life, was someone she had no reason to be involved with. “Allegiance? Please.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “You honestly believe I have any desire to be mixed up all this? I never asked for any of it. You're fortunate that you at least came into this mess of your own free will.”

He was fortunate, but she didn't envy him at all. She wished she could say she wasn't interested either – not in his ideals, or whatever he tried to pass off as them, but in himself, this embodiment of conviction and refusal to let anything else get in the way. Everything she wasn't, not all of which was bad.

“As for the shop, I have my reasons.” There was really nothing more she could say on the matter; her expression softened somewhat.

“Reasons, hmm...?” He nodded. “I am certain you do. And that is very well; far too often have I seen entire livelihoods abandoned for the sake of survival. Your resilience is quite impressive, I must say.” Slowly, he took another step back, his foot slipping slightly on the uneven terrain before he found a good place to put it. “Not only do you hold tightly to what you believe in, you are quick to reject anyone who would seem to contradict it. And yet...” A terrible sort of smirk, different from the smile he'd had before more in intent than actual appearance, spread across his face. “You then proceeded to allow a great threat to your safety to enter your life, a man who was constantly suspicious and represented everything you stand against. And I am not talking about myself.”

He knew. And he was being _irritating_ about it rather than threatening. As though she should have expected it. And honestly,  shouldn't she have? He may well have heard of her shop from his fellow terrorists because of Katsura in the first place. She couldn't let on how much this unsettled her, lest he try to use it against her.

She took a step toward him, and another, growing frantic once more. “What gives? You're talking as if you're actually concerned about me. It's my business if I–“

Her words were cut short as she found herself tripping, falling in the direction she was walking. Time slowed almost to a stop, not allowing the moment she let her guard down and screwed up to end.

Almost as though this was the man's plan all along. He would still be smirking when she fell into the pond, wouldn't he–

This line of thought stopped as time returned to its normal pace; rather than a collision with the ground or the water, she felt two strong arms catch hold of her. Such cruel irony, that she should be saved by someone she could never trust.

“You ought to be more careful where you step,” the man said softly as he made sure she was steady on her feet and let go, moving slowly but not lingering a moment longer than was necessary. "Some may choose to take advantage of that.”

“You really should have let me fall.” _That's the only way a fool like me will ever learn._ She looked up at his face in confusion, wondering just what he might have been implying. He'd shown quite clearly he only cared about his own interests – was catching her his way of turning the situation in his favour?

So, what was he gaining from this? There was a faint amusement in his voice as he asked, “What kind of person would I be, to allow one I bear no ill towards to fall?”

_The kind I expected._ She almost wanted to imagine him considering throwing her in the pond after all – it would make matters less complicated. At last, instead of questioning it, she simply lowered her head and mumbled, “Thank you.”

Yet again, it was such a little thing as that that caught him off guard. “You keep saying that, but why there would be a need for it is beyond me. You are correct, I suppose, in expecting the worst from me. And you always did, did you not? Is that a negative impression I give out, or is it in your nature to suspect every person you come across?”

She didn't respond, but he seemed to find an answer anyway, as he frowned and continued, perplexed, “Yet, you asked me, the enemy, to hear your side. And you got to learn more than you bargained for at the same time.”

“You're not an enemy,” she whispered. No more than Katsura was, at least – and that was complicated.

“Oh? And what has brought you to this conclusion?”

Ikumatsu sighed, turning away before glancing back at him with a weak smile. “You're still listening, aren't you? If you'd like, I wouldn't mind you coming by the shop again sometime soon.”

“So this is goodbye for now? Yes, I suppose it would be best – and I shall keep that in mind, if ever I get a chance. My work can get _terribly_ busy.”

Though she could have sworn she didn't react outwardly to that last statement, he chuckled slightly as though she'd flinched. Then he bowed politely, making her feel obligated to do the same, and turned to walk away.

She watched him until he managed to blend into the darkness, seeing if he would glance back.

He didn't.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can pinpoint the exact moment I realized how much sexual tension Shyra's writing had and responded accordingly. ~~I didn't categorize this under ship fic lightly, yo~~
> 
> It wasn't emphasized so much in the RP threads, but in rewriting (largely because we're seeing everything as filtered through Ikumatsu's mind) I deliberately draw out contrasts between Bansai and Katsura, as well as what we can infer/sort of make up about Daigo. Because there's a lot of differences, and it would be downright rude if not _criminal_ to erase Ikumatsu's other relationships for the sake of my own ship. There's also comparisons to be made between Bansai and Ikumatsu herself (the champions of lying to themselves, the way I write them) and of course what Ikumatsu expects vs the reality.
> 
> All of this will be on the test later.


	3. Anime Background Music Should Only Exist Outside The Fourth Wall

“Hey– excuse me, sir, you left your...”

“Oh?” This much was amazingly enough to get the man's attention; he paused in the doorway, turning back to look where she was gesturing. He seemed almost startled when he spotted it: his shamisen was sitting on the stool next to where he'd been. Exactly where he put it, and where he'd made a habit of putting it over the past couple months, but apparently he'd been too caught up in subtly offending her to remember that.

When he didn't move to retrieve it immediately, Ikumatsu laughed. “You'd better claim it before I take it and start playing it.”

“You say that as though the very idea is a bad thing. Why don't you play me a song? I've nowhere else to be this evening, after all.” As he spoke, he leisurely made his way back over and picked up the instrument.

“Why don't _you_ play one? If you really have as much time as you say you do, it's the least you can give me for not just hiding that thing somewhere.”

“That _does_ sound like a more logical course of action, does it not? Hmm...” He considered this a moment; he'd been about to slip the instrument's strap over his shoulder, but he slowly adjusted his grip on it as he apparently came to a conclusion. “One song couldn't hurt, I suppose. You were likely beginning to wonder whether I was even a musician at all.”

She'd been giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Even that she reconsidered as, apparently forgetting too the many more obvious places to sit – including where he'd _just_ been sitting minutes earlier – the man made himself comfortable on the counter and began tuning the shamisen.

Her eyes slowly narrowed, her hands curling into fists at her sides, but he only glanced at her and asked, as though this were natural, “Any requests?”

“Requests?” She let out a long sigh. “For one, get off the counter.”

This made him pause, slowly tilting his head to one side with an almost insolent expression, as if implying Ikumatsu was in no place to be telling him what to do. For a moment he didn't budge, then he slipped down onto one of the barstools, turning and pushing off the counter. The stool's legs made a harsh grating noise against the floor as he slid backward a foot or so.

The motion itself was ridiculous, but there was a fluid grace to it that made it impossible to laugh. He may have been harmlessly fooling around in her shop, but that didn't change who he was.

“How often do you hear shamisen?” The question was tossed at her idly; he didn't look up.

Not at all, not in years. Even then, it was only ever at festivals. “Oh, quite often. I don't go out of my way to listen to music at all, but I do enjoy it when I get the chance.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Is that so...? I shall do my best not to disappoint you, then.”

It sure was taking him an awful amount of effort to get three strings in tune. When was the last time he'd even played that thing?

Or perhaps that wasn't what she should be asking.

After another minute's meticulous adjusting and plucking at strings, he seemed to be satisfied at last by the state of the instrument and looked up at her expectantly. Still waiting for her to making a request, she realized.

“Geez, you can't think of anything yourself? Surprise me,” she said, suppressing a smile.

“It is rather a difficult decision to make, choosing one of the millions of tunes I have heard and could piece together.” Now this was starting to sound like a classic excuse. Was he still just messing with her?

“Surely there's a song for this occasion somewhere in there.”

“For _this_ occasion? There is no such–“ He'd seemed about to mock her, but stopped, tensing slightly. “I've got it.”

And with that, he began to play. Careful and soft at first, then growing louder – something that was quite clearly neither a traditional ballad nor a rendition of the modern music that was probably still playing from his headphones. She had the distinct impression it was like nothing she'd ever heard before.

Not that that was too surprising, really. How far could she possibly read into this?

There was something almost mesmerizing about the way his fingers moved, but she forced herself to close her eyes and simply listen.

She'd lied about being a fan of the shamisen, of course, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant either. It had a distinct, almost sharp sound to it that cleared her mind somewhat.

Cleared it, and then filled it with music. Truly, she'd never heard anything quite like this; she began to doubt anyone had. The song seemed almost to tell a story; the simple, light melody was only a cover for the haunting sound that seemed to emerge from beneath it as it continued. It was almost frightening, the range of emotion it both suggested and evoked – curiosity, apprehension, longing, something lacking, a deep sorrow...

No, she didn't like that. She'd asked for a bit of entertainment, not something heavy like this.

As though spiting her, the song grew darker still – the feeling she got was just her overthinking it, surely, but she couldn't have imagined it speeding up and sounding somewhat _betrayed_ , in whatever way a piece of music could. Such intricacy, with such a simple instrument. Would there be any end to it?

But sure enough, there was. Before long, the piece slowed and grew softer, subtler until there was silence once more. The final note echoed all through the shop, which felt much smaller all of a sudden.

Ikumatsu became aware that she was leaning forward against her side of the counter. It was only after she'd opened her eyes to see the man sitting calmly, if the tiniest bit fatigued, that she noticed she was shaking. She crossed her arms, sticking her hands in the opposite sleeves to cover it up.

If he noticed, he was tactfully ignoring it. When she didn't offer an immediate response to his performance, he asked, “I take it you were indeed surprised?”

So he'd been deliberately trying to disturb her, the bastard. She nodded slowly, gathering words together carefully before replying, “That's not what most people mean when they say 'surprise me'.”

“Isn't it? I have been going about this wrong for years now, then.” The man laughed quietly, returning the instrument to its place as he stood up. “Am I truly so talented as to have an effect on people? I am undeserving; that was a most pitiful attempt at such a song. Perhaps the nuances could have been crudely imitated on the piano, but like this...?” Now he pushed his seat back into its original position and took a step back, muttering to himself about tuning his shamisen in A next time. He intended to leave without any further explanation?

He was mid-bow when Ikumatsu interrupted him with a laugh that didn't sound quite as mocking as she wanted it to.

“You're nothing that special,” she said, then, her voice rising, “just what do you think you're playing at?”

“What _ever_ do you mean, Ikumatsu-dono?” There was nothing in his voice to suggest he truly felt the confusion the words expressed.

“That song!”

“A most interesting melody, was it not?”

"You–" Her argument felt feeble at most; it really was just a song, and only what she'd asked for at that. She looked away a moment, then back to him. “It was almost as though you designed it to–”

“I did no such thing, I assure you.” As he spoke, he backed up into the doorway – the door was still open from his previous attempt to leave, and he wouldn't keep it waiting any longer.

He paused only long enough to add a few more cryptic words, which Ikumatsu could nearly convince herself she'd misheard, if only they wouldn't repeat themselves in her head.

“ _It was only you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those things that gets more and more horrifying in the implications the longer you think about it. It's also probably the shortest thing I've ever called complete - it's based on three little asks. And, well, my replies to them. Bansai needs to be stopped. ~~Also if you're wondering why I still refuse to call him by name within these pieces, it's because he still never introduced himself and that became a thing. It is all a thing. Everything will come back round full circle.~~


	4. If You Really Don't Want Something To Happen, You Should Stop Thinking About It

There sure was an awful amount of noise outside, considering the time of day. A few distant shouts here and there were not out of the ordinary, but there were far more than usual, and the people walking by the shop seemed to all be preoccupied. Was there something happening?

Well, there was _always_ something happening. That was really a pointless question to ask.

For a minute or two, even as she heard sirens passing by, Ikumatsu ignored the disturbance. But as she put away the last of the freshly-cleaned dishes and found there was nothing else she could do but wait anyway, she simply had to wander outside. Maybe she could persuade some of the passersby to come in for an early dinner.

But as she closed the door behind her, Ikumatsu caught the stench of smoke on the breeze.

The smoke seemed only to be lingering in trace amounts, but a crowd had gathered, blocking the sidewalk only a few blocks down the street; she could see a few police officers trying to get them under control, and the fire truck that had been the source of the siren, but those Shinsengumi did not seem to have arrived yet. If indeed they would be arriving at all. She could be wrong yet. Maybe it had just been a cooking fire – that building the people seemed to be gathered around was a reasonably new Amanto restaurant.

It was just a commotion of some sort, and commotion was something Ikumatsu could overlook; she'd let so many troublesome things into her life already that she didn't exactly feel compelled to seek out more of them.

Incidents in this part of town were common enough that she could only sigh and shake her head as she heard people talking, and carry on. Perhaps she'd offer a comment or two if a customer mentioned it, just to play her role. Generic sorts of things to say, as far as she was concerned. There wasn't another war coming, what they were calling terrorists were nothing more than petty criminals pretending to be greater than they were, the only lasting threat was to people's peace of mind.

 _Her_ peace of mind in particular, it seemed. No one who ever brought up these goings-on to her had lost anything more than some time, having to take a different route or push through crowds or endure questioning. They didn't have a right to talk, she wanted to tell them, but she chatted idly nonetheless.

Today, she was faced with something more real than a vague conversation – for some horrible, unfathomable reason, she did not turn around and return to her shop. No, she walked steadily over to where the people were gathered. She kept her face blank, folding her arms over her chest as she came to a stop, as close as she could get, staring up at the building. It seemed only slightly blackened, the fire having been put out quickly.

Of course, she couldn't see much other than that from here. But neither could most of the people around – they were just drawn in by the excitement, weren't they? Like a flock of crows, or flies, even. A few of them appeared startled or somewhat sad, but for the most part they were not too terribly concerned by what had happened. They were only here to feed off the excitement of the incident.

She could hear them talking already: _“Hey, did you see what happened?”_ Whispers that passed through the crowd, not searching so much for an answer as for something to start gossip about. To turn it into a story of some sort.

“ _Sorry, man, I got here too late. I was hoping you’d know!”_

“ _I'll bet it's those good-for-nothing teenage delinquents.”_

“ _They're arsonists now, too?”_

“ _They are willing to commit every crime imaginable. Don't underestimate them.”_

“ _When you go talking like that, it makes you sound like you're one of them!”_

“ _Says the guy who acts like a terrorist.”_

“ _Tell me, what's going on?”_

“ _Hey, if I were a terrorist out to destroy that place, I would've blown it up completely, not just lit a little fire while no one was even in there.”_

“ _So who do you think did this?”_

“ _Another terrorist attack?”_

The conversations within the crowd blended into a collective sort of murmur, but she could pick out a few voices nonetheless – and with every word she heard, she wished more strongly that she couldn't.

“ _What's that? Terrorists? Here?”_

“ _What has this country come to?”_

“ _At the least, it doesn't seem like anyone got hurt.”_

“ _Even if they did, it only would've been some Amanto, right?”_

“ _Don't tell me you're supporting the Joui now?”_

“ _They're a bit extreme, but I think they've got a point...”_

Before she knew it, she was running – not back the way she'd come like she should have been, but wherever her legs carried her, away from those people. She wasn't sure why she was so upset to hear what they had to say about this. Had she really expected anything different?

But as she came to a stop just in front of an alley she had the sense not to enter, a thought struck her.

No one had even been killed; why did knowing that only make it worse, somewhere deep down? Should she not have been glad the terrorists hadn't managed to kill anyone else today? Not so spiteful, so bitter.

She had to get back to her shop, she knew – whether she had customers waiting for her or not, that was where she belonged. In truth, she had not strayed too far; she would only have to take a different route back, to avoid having to pass by the crime scene again.

Pushing that out of her mind with the thought that it was nice to get some fresh air, she kept walking, slower now, taking deep breaths. Something like this wouldn't get the better of her. It didn't even involve her at all.

She almost bumped into several people as she took a detour down a different street; they didn't really register as people so much as vague forms that quickly moved around her or broke apart from their groups to let her pass, apologizing or else shouting at her to look where she was going. Hey, she was only walking in a straight line. Shouldn't it be easy to get out of her way?

Distracted as she was, there was one that struck her as familiar – had he avoided her any more narrowly he would have brushed up against her, and yet _he_ was the one who warned her quietly, “ _Do_ be careful, Ikumatsu-dono.”

It was upon hearing her name, spoken so casually and yet as though it were something important, that Ikumatsu froze, returning all at once to reality. Of course, it had to be _him_ again. How strange that he was still “that man” to her; she'd have to get to work on inventing some sort of name for him. Preferably one he wouldn't like.

The man did not even have the good grace to wait for her to glance back at him before he made his move; he stepped back into her line of sight with an insufferably smug expression.

Well, no, that wasn't entirely fair – he had the same look about him as always, and he was only trying to greet her. It was only Ikumatsu's own mood (combined with him being insufferable in the first place) that led her to perceive him like that. She realized this was the first time she'd seen him during the day... he was even more annoying just for that. Did he not realize there was an incident being investigated nearby, or did he know something else that let him stay calm?

“Good afternoon,” he said, bowing slightly as always. It was starting to seem like a reflex he couldn't control, more so than a greeting.

Ikumatsu was having none of that. "You!”

“Hmm?” He took a moment to consider this, as though it were some sort of accusation, before nodding. “Yes, I suppose it _is_ me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“At present, feeling _terribly_ unwelcome. And before that...”

She snorted and he trailed off, tilting his head slightly, apparently signalling that he was paying attention to whatever she was about to say – she could hear his headphones, turned up even louder now than they tended to be when he visited her shop. She had a strong temptation to pull them off his head and snap them right in half.

But then she'd somehow end up apologizing and owing him new ones, wouldn't she. Or worse, stopping halfway through and having to awkwardly put them back.

If she paused for much longer than this, she'd be _asking_ for him to mock her. As naturally as possible, she said, “I'm not sure I want to know what you've been doing – and out in broad daylight, at that. I understand your outfit is enough of a ridiculous disguise already, but shouldn't the authorities be able to recognize _that_ by now?”

“I have not been met with any trouble as of yet.” And truly, several more people had walked past since they had started talking, and none of them seemed to show any more reaction than a moment's mild concern. He followed her gaze as she looked around at everyone who passed, then offered a rather different observation: “They all appear to be headed in the same direction, do they not? Do you suppose they share a destination?”

The question almost made it seem as though he didn't know what had happened, but at the same time he would hardly be assuming such a thing unless he knew there was somewhere they could all be going.

“Don't be ridiculous, I'm sure they– don't tell me you were involved with that?” She hadn't intended to ask him, but the question seemed to force itself out.

"With what? You will have to be more specific, I'm afraid. I have been quite busy today.” His lips curved into a hint of a smile.

“You know what I'm talking about.”

“Ah, you're right. Certainly I have an inkling of what happened, but... is that really what you believe? Or are you simply accusing me because that would serve as an acceptable explanation?” Apparently this was a rhetorical question, as he continued almost immediately, “I regret that I must be the one to inform you of this, but I've far more important things to do with my time than cause a disturbance in a restaurant.”

“Oh, do you now? You could've fooled me.” Her voice came out even more hostile than she'd intended; she took a step toward him.

At the same time, he took a step back, as if this were some sort of dance. Was this all a joke to him?

If it was, the least he could do was laugh about it – instead he frowned and said, “I do believe, Ikumatsu-dono, that it is about time you stopped blaming 'terrorists' for everything that goes wrong.”

These words pierced her, however she tried not to acknowledge them – he was right, as per usual. But no, he _wasn't_ right in this case, since this incident clearly _had_ been the terrorists' fault. She narrowed her eyes, if only to cover up whatever other emotion might be showing there. “You make it sound like I'm going out of my way to blame people.” With a bitter laugh, she added, “And you must admit, you're not exactly giving me a reason to do any different.”

“Oh, I can admit to that without a moment's hesitation.” The man's voice remained earnest, but anyone who'd talked to him for more than five seconds could have seen through that. “I have done quite the opposite, in fact; you have been given every reason to pin any problem you see on me. I do hope it has been in some way helpful.”

The sense of dread she'd felt since he had first spoken transformed in an instant to a burning rage – she'd knock that stupid look off his face and make him apologize. Teach him one of the hundreds of lessons he seemed to have missed out on in his lifetime.

But before she could even prepare herself to do that, she knew she couldn't. They were in public after all, and obviously he was more than capable of fighting back. Even without taking into consideration what his job must entail, she knew he had to be terribly skilled – it was the only logical explanation for why no one had killed him yet. She let her long sleeves hide her hands, which had balled into fists at first as a reaction and then to keep them from shaking. They were soft hands, strong and marked by years of kitchen accidents but designed to nurture, not to hurt.

The man's hands were in his pockets, as though trying to keep their purpose ambiguous. As though it was still possible not to know.

She took a deep breath; she was most certainly overreacting here. “What are you after? Honestly, there's no need to come seek me out if you want ramen. Just wait at the shop next time.” _Or better yet, go somewhere else._

“Did you not tell me you didn't want to know? I had no intention of encountering you here; it was merely a fortunate coincidence. If you believe such a thing exists, that is.”

“So you're saying you _did_ go out of your way.”

“I would appreciate if you did not change the subject.” It was a marvel he could talk at all, for all his face seemed capable of moving. “I have given you cause to resent me – this is a personal matter, entirely unrelated to anyone's ideals. Unless I am mistaken, you are in contact with those you call your enemies quite frequently. And there was one man in particular whose involvement you did not seem for a moment to suspect, was there not?”

He smirked and suddenly Ikumatsu regretted wishing he'd lose the poker face. And, as usual, he seemed to find some sort of answer in her appalled silence and added, “If there were Jouishishi involved in that particular incident, he would be as likely a candidate for it as I. He has such a frightening reputation for a reason, one would think.”

Ikumatsu's face flushed at this – she would not be holding a conversation about Katsura with this man. Or with anyone else, for that matter; it wasn't _anyone_ 's business. “You say that, but you're the one who's here, talking like you know so much about this. Besides, I associate with him, not what he stands for. And at this point, it almost seems like you stand for completely different things. What kind of Jouishishi are you, anyway?”

She asked the question as casually as possible, but she wouldn't have minded if he'd interpreted it as an attack – she _did_ mind that he took it in stride and replied evenly, “One with no interest whatsoever in saving this country, naturally. Was that not the fault you saw in me?”

“Please. I'd be wasting my whole day – and yours too – if I tried to tell you what I saw. Why do you ask me all these questions, are you looking for feedback on your personality now? You would be better off throwing it out and starting over.”

This got, of all the possible reactions, a quiet chuckle out of him. “It has always been utterly unfathomable that you do not see _far_ more business, with that delightful attitude of yours.” He leaned forward slightly, only for a moment, but then gave a slight shake of his head and said in what might have been his most ambiguous tone yet, "And on that note, I wish you the best in that regard.”

Here he was, trying to escape already. Never mind that it was a much more mature choice than what she was resorting to. Ikumatsu turned away, trying to look less confrontational now – more to avoid alarming the strangers passing by than for this man's benefit. She sighed. “You stopped me just to say that?”

“If I recall correctly, I stopped you to advise against walking so carelessly.”

“Right. Well, don't get the wrong idea – I appreciate it, Sunglasses Samurai-san.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye; he froze for a moment then slowly copied her in turning, facing the way he'd been headed before. If that _was_ where he was going, and he hadn't just spontaneously appeared here to irritate her...

“Did you think of that one just now?” His voice was no less neutral than before, but she liked to imagine it had softened somewhat. Maybe he was making more of an effort than usual to be unreadable, maybe she was trying too hard to see some sort of response. What nonsense.

“I was considering it for a while. It seems a bit more pleasant than the other things I considered calling you,” Ikumatsu said, trying to imitate his tone and failing, laughing.

“It does, does it not...?”

With that, forgetting a proper goodbye (though, as she stopped watching him, she wouldn't have been all that surprised if he _did_ stop to bow), he was on his way.

Ikumatsu kept walking too, this time aware of what she was doing. At the very least, that man had helped her with something.

She couldn't help but look back, but he'd already vanished – could he really blend into a crowd that easily, or had he ducked into an alley somewhere? It didn't matter.

What mattered was that she had to get back to work. To do anything else would be letting him – and all of the terrorists – get to her. That was all terrorists ever accomplished, wasn't it? They scared people. If you took that away, they were powerless.

Her composure returned gradually, until it was as though none of the day's events had ever occurred.

Or she wished she could say that, at least.

As she approached her shop, she was greeted by yet another unwelcome sight. Less unwelcome to some part of her, perhaps, but equally as uninvited as the other man had been.

Leaning against the door to the Hokutoshinken, arms tucked in his sleeves, hair offensively long as always, was Katsura Kotarou.

He looked up when he saw her, greeting her as if this was to be expected. “Ah, Ikumatsu-dono! There you are! I was beginning to worry.” Noticing her questioning expression, he glanced between her and the shop and explained, “You left the door unlocked, so I stationed myself here to guard it. Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”

She was sure nothing would have happened, but she forced a smile for now as she motioned for him to stop obstructing the door. “Oh? Silly me, you're right. Thank you, Ka-”

“What are you thinking, Ikumatsu-dono?” Katsura glanced around, alarmed. “You can't use that name in public.”

“You're right.” _Wouldn't want anyone to think I'm consorting with criminals._ "Well then, Sir, would you mind-”

“It's not 'Sir', it's Katsura!”

She wasn't sure why she tried anymore. She pushed him aside – carefully, relieved that he did not hold his ground this time – and opened the door. “Geez. Is there some sort of terrorist convention going on today?”

This seemed to concern Katsura more than it should have; he followed her inside. “There are no conventions among the Joui – though I do hold bimonthly Uno tournaments. You would be welcome to attend the next one, if you... are you alright, Ikumatsu-dono?”

Ikumatsu ignored his blathering, returning to the kitchen to see what it was she had to do next. Of course, the fact that she had no work to do until more customers arrived made it hard to pay attention to anything but Katsura. “I'm fine. Honestly, you don't have to worry about me so much. I was just out on a little walk.”

She wasn't sure why she lied to him. If he was already so interested in her well-being, wouldn't he protect her from that sunglasses samurai too? Though, that might only get them all in even deeper trouble.

And it wasn't what she wanted to begin with, she realized. So she lied. “There was an incident today, that's what I was referring to. Have you all come out for a special occasion or something? If I'd known, I would have gone on vacation.”

“Is there any proof the Joui were responsible for that?” Katsura asked, hesitating, as he took a seat on one of the stools.

“There isn't any proof it was anything else. Now, are you going to order something? I'll even make soba for you, if you're going to insist on that.” She couldn't help but be struck by how she'd already been asked a similar question today. But Katsura was careful, already knowing he couldn't argue with her about some things.

Even now, when he must have doubted that she was fine – her own behaviour wasn't helping there, either – he made no comment there. “Oh, no. I just ate. There is a stand only a few streets away from here that sells excellent soba.”

Ikumatsu overlooked the insults she could take out of that last comment for now, though she shot him an irritated look. “What are you here for, then? This is a ramen shop, go somewhere else if you're just looking for idle conversation.” _And in case you hadn't noticed, you're bad for business._ She couldn't let any other customers in when Katsura was here, with the exception of a few of his friends, for fear someone would recognize and report him. It wasn't so much of a problem late at night, but in the middle of the afternoon... she could hardly keep her eyes off the door.

“It has been a long time since I last visited,” Katsura said, earnest as ever, “I have been on standby in various places for months now. Why, why does everyone forget about me when they start serious arcs... is it because I'm on standby in the first place?” He stared at the counter for a moment, seeming about to start some sort of rant, but fortunately recovered and said instead, “I couldn't just leave once my duty of protecting the shop was fulfilled, I had to make sure you weren't needlessly concerned.”

“I'm only as concerned as usual.” Ikumatsu sighed. “You can leave any time you want. And... I'm sure I would hear about it, if something _did_ happen to you. I haven't given it much thought.” It hadn't even felt like a possibility until he brought it up, but she didn't feel like admitting something like that right now. “I'm sorry, Katsura-san, I'm preoccupied today.”

He nodded, acknowledging the apology without seeming to feel a need to give her an excuse. And then, his voice soft, he said, “Ikumatsu-dono, if something does happen...” he broke off suddenly as he glanced back at the door.

Sure enough, as though Ikumatsu's anticipating the worst had caused it, there came voices outside and the door opened slowly.

Katsura didn't need to be told to react – he ran around to her side of the counter so quickly it startled her, only to stop just inside the doorway leading to the suite upstairs. "... I'll make sure Elizabeth becomes a regular customer here in my stead,” he whispered, then vanished upstairs.

This wasn't the first time he'd done that, but it still bothered her – something about remembering the way they'd first met, no doubt. If she found anything of hers was missing...

But she couldn't give voice to any of the things she could think of shouting after him, as they were no longer alone in the shop.

The newcomers were two older women, one of whom visited every few weeks – the other she'd never seen before.

With an image of Katsura running through her room, jumping out the window and escaping over the rooftops _in broad daylight_ in her mind, she turned to greet the customers with a cheerful smile. Everything else that had happened that day remained unforgotten, but she could set it aside just for now.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to the Hokutoshinken. I see you've brought a new friend, Amano-san? Oh, there's no need to close the door again, the weather is lovely today – please, take a seat wherever you'd like. Today's special is...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up until now, there've been differences between the chapter notes on FFN and AO3. This time I just copied and pasted. Sue me.
> 
> I started out with just the thought in mind that "this fic needs to have Zura in it, he's already been mentioned a few times and he'll only become more relevant as we go", and somehow we ended up with this huge sprawling mess. This is the chapter with the most people and points brought up in it and yet it is entirely Ikumatsu-centric. A couple heartwarming moments, a few more terrible moments, and potentially a set-up for what's going to happen next chapter. Not that I'd tell you what it'll be or where the foreshadowing was.
> 
> I didn't take much from the RPs this time around, just the subject Bansai brought up (from a long-forgotten pointless conversation they had) and a couple lines cut from other places because I can't properly apply them in the original context. Also I found a way to tie in the nickname of "Sunglasses Samurai-san", it was never in any of the threads but appeared spontaneously in short chat RPs later so I had to pinpoint an exact moment Ikumatsu came up with it. Other than that, this chapter is all new. Some of it was necessary, some of it wasn't... but it was all worth it, I'd like to think.
> 
> Thank you to those few of you that continue to support this fic. It has always been my dream to share this with the world...


	5. Cutting Vegetables And Cutting People Require About The Same Effort

There were moments in every person's life that they could never seem to erase no matter how they tried, things big or small that caused them to realize nothing could ever be quite the same again. Ikumatsu was far from oblivious to this; she'd had quite a few of these already. Enough of them, even, that she wanted to think she'd reached the limit and there couldn't possibly be any more.

If only life worked that way.

She'd only left the shop for a moment that evening to pick up a few leeks from the market down the street; she returned to see she'd left the door unlocked and slightly ajar in her absentmindedness.

The private laugh she allowed herself at this small mishap was interrupted by a much larger disturbance from the other side of the door – a clattering, a terrified cry, a thud.

Ikumatsu threw the door open, only to freeze again, her grocery bag falling to the ground.

In the middle of the shop stood a familiar headphone-wearing man, holding a sword and standing over a squirming, bloody mass that was vaguely recognizable as an Amanto of some sort. Even as she watched, he drove the blade deeply into it.

And then he seemed to flinch, turning to look at her – a split-second later, he smiled brightly. “Ah, there you are, Ikumatsu-dono! I'd been looking for you...” Distractedly, he twisted the sword and pulled it out; his victim fell still. “What _impeccable_ timing, too.”

Such a striking way of greeting her, it almost screamed, _'hey baby, you're next.'_

She remained where she stood, eyes and mouth wide open.

Trying to make sense of the situation, to stop and think at all, would be futile. There were lives at stake here, and not only that – even if she did survive this, it would doubtlessly lead to an international incident and she herself would be under suspicion of harbouring not one but _multiple_ criminals.

That wasn't what she asked for, and she'd be damned if she ever let that happen to her.

Returning to her senses, or as much as she could, she narrowed her eyes. “Just what the hell do you think you're doing?!”

“My job,” the man replied evenly, “what does it look like?”

Even now, nothing about him had changed. He'd somehow managed to avoid getting any blood on his coat, his hair was unnaturally ridiculous as always, he was even wearing the same sunglasses indoors – had she really expected any difference in his demeanour, either?

She sighed, picking up her bag and locking the door behind her before approaching the counter, avoiding the murderer and his victim. As though pretending nothing was out of the ordinary would make it not have happened. She reached the kitchen, finding three pots had been knocked onto the floor. Along with several stools at the crime scene – just how much of a mess was he determined to make?

She could start with the smallest issue; it'd be easier on her nerves. “Those pots were expensive. I suggest you pick them up and put them in the sink.”

He blatantly disregarded this, instead taking a seat in his usual spot. With a little smile, he pulled a stained handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the blood from his sword. “And I suggest you give me a minute's running start and then call the police. Tell them you returned to your shop to find this had transpired and urge them to investigate immediately.”

She scowled; he continued as if this were a perfectly normal day for him, “But I get the impression that isn't going to happen, either.”

He examined the now mostly-clean sword, then slid it inside that shamisen he carried – _that_ was the reason for it all along?! – and stood slowly, giving her a strange look. “Is that all? No panicking, or accusations, or asking who this Amanto was, or assuming I am going to have to kill you now as well? Impressive.”

“Never mind that. I know perfectly well what you've done here.” Did she, really? Despite all the thoughts that had already occurred to her, she was still numb to the full impact of it.

“Ikumatsu-dono, I do apologize, but I simply had to seize the opportunity when it arose. But there is a positive side: it was a most convenient way of ridding ourselves of one more Amanto threat–“ his voice took on a darker tone, "–as well as a reminder to you of what exactly you have involved yourself with.”

“Are you mocking me?” She laughed, mostly at herself; that question wasn't even necessary. “I don't give a damn why you did this or whose body that is on the floor. If you don't get that out of here–“

A horrified shudder passed through her as a distinct realization struck.

_...I'll make sure you'll be joining this corpse._

The temptation was great. Her heart was pounding, her head was spinning – she wanted nothing more than to kill this man, to spill his blood across the floor of the shop, to make this a permanent and ironic lesson in the dangers of toying with lives.

But if she did that, she'd be no better than him or any of the others. Just as she would tell him of his own murders, one death wouldn't set anything right.

She snapped back slightly, becoming aware of herself. And of him, looking at her with either concern or interest, his head tilted. It was that little detail, his still having the nerve to act only mildly irritating when she was about to fall apart, that made her able to speak again.

"–who knows what they'll do to us,” she finished, setting the bag of leeks down on the counter at last. She carefully averted her gaze, staring at the counter to avoid anything that would worsen the rising feeling of nausea. The air in the shop felt rank and foul; the body was only a small part of it. “Sir, I have long passed the point of being afraid. If you're going to make a getaway, you'd best escape through the upstairs. And if you must take my life, so be it. Just remember who you're dealing with.”

“Who I'm dealing with, hmm? And who _exactly_ might I be dealing with? Do tell.” Any pretence of being apologetic or in any way reserved dropped immediately from his voice; there was now an emphasis on each word that didn't seem connected to any sort of emotion. “A bleeding heart, a pacifist more due to circumstance than choice, split halfway between avoiding contact with others and throwing herself at every new person she meets – is this who I am supposed to be concerned to know I'm dealing with? I have offered you an excellent chance to rid yourself of me, but you have yet to take it.”

His words cut deep; he'd be hard-pressed to sink that sword in deeper. But she pretended to brush it off, turning her back and placing the leeks on the cutting board. “Getting rid of you won't change anything. If one falls, two more rise to take his place, isn't that how it goes?”

“I must agree with you there. It is a simple matter to kill a person, but impossible to entirely erase what they represent. Just as the Joui's attempt to expel the Amanto is futile. As is your wish to carry on free of strife in this world. Still we persist. I must say, though...” His tone was uneven, animated with what must have been suppressed laughter. “You have not exactly been associating with the kinds of people that will help to make that goal any more attainable.”

She whirled to face him again, but her angry retort died on her lips; she felt as though she might be sick if she dared open her mouth. The mocking smirk the murderer wore slowly stretched into a wide, vicious grin.

“Oh, is _that_ who I am dealing with? Your ineffectual terrorist heartthrob? Perhaps that is somewhat more of a threat, but I fail to see what good he is doing you here.”

That was it – if ever there was a nerve that shouldn't have been hit, this man had taken a violent stab at it. He'd left the line far behind him, and Ikumatsu wasn't about to wait and see how much further it was possible for him to go.

This had to end.

 _He_ had to end.

She felt the motion of her body lunging toward him, as close as she could get with the counter still between them, moving of its accord with complete disregard for logic. The shrill shrieking that escaped her seemed to do so on its own as well. “ _Leave him out of this!_ I'm a pacifist, am I? I'll fucking kill you, how's that for being a pacifist?!”

There was a loud crash as she threw one of the pots that had fallen onto the floor in his general direction; he didn't even have to move to avoid it, but at least it wiped that grin off his face.

She tried again, making certain to aim better, only to find this throw was even more erratic than the first; the pot struck the wall and rolled halfway back.

“W-why... why. He m-means nothing... t-to me. I'm not...”

It was stupid, some part of her knew that. But at the same time... in her attempt to avoid looking directly at the murderer, she found her gaze drawn to the corpse. This was the most detailed look she'd taken – a terrible mistake. Who it had been or what he'd done that would lead this man to kill him was of no importance; it was enough to know that only minutes ago this was a living, breathing Amanto of some sort, who was now lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Someone who'd had a future, for better or for worse, some sort of goal which was no longer possible. Who'd doubtlessly left behind loved ones, or at the least coworkers, who could try all they wanted to honour his memory but could never get him back.

It served as a sobering reminder of what this man, this murderer whom she'd _repeatedly_ let into her shop despite claiming to know better, had done. And of what he would continue to do, despite being fully aware of the consequences.

But what if, _what if_ , she did take matters into her own hands? This wasn't the first time she'd considered it. _Someone_ had to. It would be useless to think she could rid the world of the Joui, and nothing more than a delusion to think anything would change even if she did, but...

“I'm not going to...”

This wasn't about the bigger picture. This was about the man standing right there in front of her. He had proven already that there was no use in trying to talk sense into him, nor in staying calm and hoping he'd go away. Forget being a level-headed, law-abiding citizen – if the terrorists could find a reason, then so could she, a thousand times over.

– _kill you._

She gave in to those wrathful, irrational instincts she had so long suppressed; time and space blurred together and she could hardly tell where she was going as she stumbled around the kitchen, digging through the cupboards, scrambling to find something – _anything_ – she could use as a weapon. Pots, dishes, utensils – she threw them all in his direction, finding before long that it didn't matter whether or not a single projectile hit him. She sim ply reveled in the noise each object made as it struck its destination, wall or floor or otherwise.

In the same way, she screamed more to let the near-unintelligible words escape than out of any sort of belief it would have an effect: “What the hell is your problem? I don't care what you're planning, but I'll be damned if you ever lay a finger on him! Just get out of here, and never come back! Clean up that mess, you're disgusting. Commit seppuku, or I'll do it for you!”

She hadn't noticed when she'd started crying, but she realized it now – her shaking hands and tear-blurred eyes didn't slow her down one bit. The only thing that could stop her was running out of things to throw.

There was a drawn-out silence on the man's part; if anything, he seemed intrigued by this. When at last he spoke, it was in an appallingly calm voice. “Ikumatsu-dono... if you believe your actions frighten me, you shall have to think again. At the very least, you could come up with some more original insults. Have you any idea how tiresome it is to be told those same things every time?” He laughed in his sinister, joyless way. “Perhaps I have been going about this the wrong way; I am most curious as to what it is you intend to do, should I bring 'him' into-”

“ _Don't you dare!_ ”

Ikumatsu grabbed the knife she'd intended to cut up the leeks with – but as the man's words made her pause to half-listen, she tucked it inside her sleeve instead of throwing it as she'd been about to. At the same time, she tossed a bowl with her other hand.

It smashed almost immediately, before it could possibly have hit the floor, with a noise that seemed distinctly as though it had collided with something metal.

His voice was closer, sounding thoughtful now. “Such a lively tune you play... you have much potential, and it would be a shame for it to remain untapped. Though I daresay that may be for the best.”

Before she could figure out what he was going on about, she felt a burst of air pass by and the faintest stinging on her arm. She froze, dumbfounded, the world regaining its usual clarity. His sword had torn through the sleeve of her shirt, barely grazing the skin beneath.

A clever feint, indeed. Or was it a _challenge_?

Whether he'd run around the counter or simply jumped over it she wasn't sure, but he was in the kitchen now, preparing himself to strike again.

Ikumatsu wasn't buying his bullshit. He could have run that blade right through her from the start and there would be nothing left to say. It infuriated her that he would spare her life, as if she was worth less than the scum he so casually cut down.

“Quit messing with me,” she said as she looked him in the eyes – or at least cast a glare at where she knew his eyes were – her grip still tight on the concealed knife. “You could very well have killed me there, so what gives? Why didn't you?!” Her statements began in a quiet tone, but she soon lost control of her voice once more.

“I have never been one for doing things the easy way,” he replied evenly. If he was trying to give the impression he'd never considered it, he failed.

“What the hell?!” She took a step closer, screaming again now. “You're a failure, is that it? Can't even bring yourself to kill someone like me. Weak! You wouldn't _dare_ to touch him, either. _Coward_!”

With that last accusation – taunt? – still on her tongue, she thrust herself perilously close to the man, flipping the knife out of her sleeve and holding it unsteadily inches from his throat.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, quivering slightly: “Move any closer and you'll find this lodged in your throat. Then you won't find any need to drag _anyone_ into– whatever the hell you're trying to do.” She let an almost nervous chuckle slip, then her mouth stretched into a trembling smirk. “It would be a _shame_ if all of your effort went to waste here, in this boring little ramen shop.”

For a moment the man scowled, shifting subtly into a more offensive stance, but he appeared no more fazed by this threat than by any other show of violence she had made so far. Then he raised his eyebrows, too non-aggressive an expression for the situation. She'd really do it, she was in a perfect position to kill him... her hand shook harder as she tried to move the knife closer.

 _You've never killed a person before_ , was what that look he gave her said. As though that was a _bad_ thing!

“You believe I have been trying unsuccessfully to take your life this entire time, and could never work up the strength?” he asked. “Should your assumption prove wrong, you are taking a terrible risk.”

Sure, he could say that, but he still made no sudden movements. All talk, that's what she'd always said the terrorists were...

“You underestimate me, Ikumatsu-dono.” The man's voice cut across her thoughts before she could string them into more accusations – and then he took a great step backward, out of her reach. In the same motion, he raised his sword so the tip rested so lightly against her neck that she could hardly feel it there. “On several counts.”

Ikumatsu inhaled sharply, but she refused to be intimidated by this; she stood firm.

“Have you nothing more to say?” The blade and the hand holding it remained perfectly steady; a malicious smirk appeared on his face, putting the faltering one she still wore to shame. “Go ahead, make your move. I am giving you a chance. _Certainly_ one so noble and upstanding as yourself can deal with such a lowly extremist. Or am I mistaken?”

His voice grew soft, almost gentle; a horrific sort of dissonance. “ _Could it be_ that even after all this, your hatred and determination were only an act? You chose to oppose me with all your being because the alternative was too dreadful to bear?” The smirk widened into a sneer; he couldn't keep the mocking note out of his words any longer. “I have heard enough bitterness and self-loathing to recognize it; there is no need to cover it up. You chose to blame yourself for something in the past, did you not? And then when the pain became too much, you instead turned on the group of which only a few were responsible. Until now, I have not done a single thing with the intent to harm you, and yet you viewed me with suspicion from the start.”

There was a cold, prickling feeling against her throat now, but she hardly felt it. Her heart beat quickly in response to both the danger and the words the man had to say; her eyes were locked on what little she could glimpse of his. Something in the way he looked at her was different from what his taunts suggested, but what feeling she saw there was impossible to recognize, clearly twisted beyond anything she could relate to. Not sympathy, not admiration, but nonetheless a different opinion toward the flaws he pointed out...

As quickly as she could wonder about it, it vanished; his gaze grew steely.

“But in the end, first impressions are more accurate than one might like to believe. Who would I be to prove you wrong? Fight me, if you'd like. Avenge your husband; defend your friends! If that is what you believe you'd be achieving.”

 _I wouldn't believe that for a minute._ It may have been true that she'd chosen to antagonize him, but there was no way she would let him tell her what she felt. She had enough criticisms of her own to let this man's commentary add to the pile. She glanced between the man and his blade, and down at the simple kitchen knife she had armed herself with, and a flash of red caught her eye – she hadn't felt herself bleeding, but sure enough a thin trickle of blood was running down her neck, staining her shirt. Her instinct told her to back away, but still she held her ground.

“Don't make me laugh,” she said, and truly did have to stifle a giggle. “You think I have friends, that I'd be trying to protect anyone? Myself, even? Call me out on my self-loathing all you want, I won't stop you.” She pulled her head back slightly, sidestepping away from the sword, shifting her weight. “What I'm fighting for isn't revenge, or those important people you seem to think I have.”

There was no room for hesitation. Letting the stubborn conviction behind these words fuel her, she ran at him, swinging the knife clumsily.

He blocked the blow with his sword, but looked almost impressed; she struck again without pausing and he matched her. Of _course_ he could predict her moves, what was she trying to... without even thinking about what she was doing, she charged again, seeking to sink the knife into whatever part of him she could reach – and with her free hand, she threw a punch, which she felt was more likely to catch him off-guard.

The man was still too quick; he dodged both of these moves just in time, letting out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

He gave away his surprise by taking the offensive, and she was scarcely able to avoid being cut. There wasn't that much room in the kitchen, one of them would end up hitting something soon enough... the thought barely registered; more important was the fact that she was already struggling to catch her breath. She'd been lucky so far, or else he wasn't trying all that hard. It was far from an even match, and her hopes of killing him were replaced by a need to at least survive a little longer. She had to find a way to disable him, and fast.

The quickest way would be to disarm him, right? And just as she let her racing mind focus on that, she saw what she could do – she dodged a strike by dashing in dangerously close, slicing across his right arm. That could make him drop the weapon, that would–

Most of the blow's momentum was lost in trying to rip through his coat, and it wasn't nearly a big enough cut or in the right place to cause the damage she needed to do, but she felt the knife cut through flesh nonetheless. It filled her not with the thrill she'd expected but a cold, heavy dread. “Please,” she hissed, half angry and half fearful, “I gave you an opportunity to leave. Why are you still here? Why don't you go?”

He didn't flinch, nor did his grip on his weapon slip even slightly, but he remained still. “Why don't I go...” he repeated the question slowly as though it were a foreign concept to him, examining the blood beginning to spill from his wound. “The answer is quite simple, and that you have not guessed it yet is rather uncharacteristic.”

The sword flashed toward her so fast she hardly saw it – proving he was just toying with her before – but it only struck loudly against the knife, knocking it out of her hand. Ikumatsu's eyes widened and she took a step back, though she knew she couldn't give up so easily. She just needed a new plan; her eyes darted about, desperately searching for anything to buy her more time.

The man followed her, but rather than finish her off now he angled the blade away to step in close.  _Too_ close, considering Ikumatsu was unarmed. A strange sort of insistence tugged at his voice as he said, “I could not bring myself to leave. I am weak, perhaps, as you said; however I struggled to fight it, your song has me in thrall. My only wish is to hear more of it.”

She wasn't sure how he expected her to respond to this; as it was, she only retreated further. She had an idea for how to get rid of him now, she only had to–

Her foot caught on something and she lost her balance, stumbling backwards into the counter behind her. The back of her head slammed against it; pain radiated from that point, causing the room to spin wildly about her, blurred. How foolish of her, she ought to look where she walked next time... as she regained her footing, swaying, she spotted what she'd tripped over: a pot, which lay haphazardly on the floor. Why was it there?

The enemy here was not to be forgotten. She took a staggering step toward the indistinct shape of the man, but her vision grew dim and she fell to the floor. Some part of her was indignant, terrified – she had to keep fighting, or she'd die! But mostly she felt only vaguely disappointed that he hadn't caught her that time.

Ikumatsu could only imagine the assassin staring down at her with that faintly concerned look he tended to give her, as if he wasn't the reason she'd had this breakdown in the first place. As if he wasn't about to kill her.

_Was_ he about to kill her? She'd accepted that as the only motivation he could be acting on, but hitting her head had either clarified matters or further muddled her understanding.

It took a moment to get her voice to work, and she still couldn't be certain it was actually audible: “I have no clue what you're talking about with your songs, but it seems I've failed you...”

How pathetic it was, that she'd managed to defeat herself.

And how curious that the last thing she remembered hearing was him pacing back and forth near her head for a moment, then telling her: “You've won, Ikumatsu-dono. I did not intend for this to get so far out of hand... somehow I doubt I should be welcomed back here...?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Devil laughs.
> 
> This was a thread from August 2013, which was when I finally decided what kind of Bansai I wanted to write, people took an interest in that, and we all knew we were doomed to go down with this terrible ship. Welcome to our reality.
> 
> In terms of changes this chapter... I made a lot, but it was all in the interest of streamlining the plot and putting emphasis where it was important. Well, and a bit of the effect I was trying to do in the original but didn't manage to pull off in RP format, only controlling one character. The dialogue is mostly the same as it was in the original. I did a lot of playing with moral ambiguity and implications here, and you bet we'll be touching on what exactly happened more later. Next chapter is going to have some explanation for what went on between this incident and a new uneasy status quo being set up, since that was completely skipped over in the RP shenanigans.


	6. Everyone Has A Different Idea Of What's Right And Wrong

It was not even two weeks later that he reappeared. Ikumatsu turned away immediately upon recognizing him, fixing her gaze on the dishes she forced herself to continue washing. What did it take to make him stay away?!

An icy breeze blew in during the brief moment the door was open, seeming to linger in the shop long after it had dissipated. Though it didn't smell anything but fresh, to her it carried the stench of blood she'd only just managed to rid her thoughts of.

For several long seconds the only sounds were the splashing of water in the sink and the low hum of the electric lights. Then came footsteps so soft she had to strain to hear them – she stopped listening the instant she caught herself doing so – and a quiet creak as the man took a seat.

Her shoulders stiffened; her grip tightened on the knife she was trying to wipe clean.

He seemed to take this as an invitation. "Lovely weather we're having, is it not, Ikumatsu-dono?" His voice was calm, lighthearted – playing at sincerity but not fully achieving it. "If I didn't know any better, I would assume it was the reason you have not been getting many customers."

She set the knife down and turned to face him, scowling; though a sick feeling was beginning to bubble up in her stomach, she addressed him with only a vague dissatisfaction, "You have the nerve to show your face around here again?"

"Oh, I've the nerve to do  _much_  more than that." He paused, brushing half-melted snow from his hair with the utmost care, then brought his hands together to rub some warmth back into them. "Does it truly come as such a surprise? Surely you should be expecting this, by now."

Ikumatsu sighed. "Please. If I expected such suspicious men to frequent my shop, I would have sold it long ago."

"Ah, would you have? How unfortunate that would have been." Now he took off his sunglasses to clean them – his eyes flitting up to meet hers once, twice during the process, alight with something unrecognizable but not possibly good news – before replacing them, pushing them higher up on his nose. "Is... there something wrong, Ikumatsu-dono? I have done nothing yet, and you already sound terribly upset."

He sure had a strange idea of what  _nothing_  meant. "Is that so? I'll be waiting for you to make your move, then – in the meantime, is there anything I could interest you in?"

"Rather a vague question," he said with a hint of a smile, but noticing her lack of amusement he continued simply, "I'll have the special."

"I should have guessed," Ikumatsu said, forcing herself to laugh. "One miso ramen coming up. Geez, can't you ever order something more imaginative?"

"Such a small menu is hardly an invitation to creativity. And is not the special what you would recommend your customers order?"

"You've ordered it enough times to have tried everything, surely you have a favourite by now? Sunglasses Samurai-san." She added the last part hesitantly, as a reminder to herself that she called him that – that name hadn't even entered her mind since the last time they had met.

Just as it had when she had first used it, the nickname gave the man pause. "Perhaps. But I much prefer allowing you to choose. It may be a foolish notion, but I have always felt anything referred to as a 'special' must truly be set apart from everything else."

"It wouldn't be the first foolish notion you've had."

"No, and I doubt it shall be the last." This was hardly a deep conversation, but he took on a solemn, thoughtful tone somehow. If he was considering everything he'd ever thought that could be considered foolish... well, that would keep him occupied for a while. This was a ramen shop, not a therapist's office.

And with that in mind, Ikumatsu turned away to prepare a bowl of ramen in silence.

A lot had happened since she saw him last.  _Since they'd nearly killed each other_ , her mind wanted to argue, but she preferred to keep a more pleasant description of the incident in mind. While he was here, at the least. Winter had settled in, and the neighbourhood was under closer watch by the authorities than ever. Her shop was seeing less visits than ever before, but as the man had pointed out already the hostile weather was not the problem.

That might have been more significant in the long run, but it was not what her brain repeated to her.

She had awoken (properly – she had hazy recollections of being awake a few times before that) in the middle of the night after that incident in a panic about getting rid of the evidence, to find herself still lying on the kitchen floor, with her wounds tended to and her shop already under investigation by the Shinsengumi.

Her outrage at this had nearly outweighed the hatred toward the man that had caused them to be there, and the young, plain-looking officer who'd woken her up had taken far too much convincing to give her any clear answers to her questions. No, they hadn't caught the culprit yet. No, she wasn't being arrested unless there was any evidence against her. No, she should  _really_  sit down and let them handle this. Yes, this would end up in the news.

 _Don't you know how bad that will be for business_ , she'd huffed, and apparently it had been the right thing to say, as it had welcomed some sort of sympathy she didn't particularly want.

As much as she'd resented that officer, the one who'd approached next was infinitely worse. She could recognize him anywhere, not by name but simply as the teenaged captain who was always chasing Katsura around and making a mess of things in the process. An incompetent of course, but a dangerous one. And unlike the plain guy, he couldn't be pressured into holding a more convenient conversation. He'd had questions for her.

Ikumatsu had claimed to have memory damage due to hitting her head – which was only half a lie, as the vivid memories were only beginning to flood back at the time. She'd given only what answers she'd found strategically suitable: her returning to the shop to find a terrorist  _she had never seen before_  killing someone, fighting him  _strictly out of self-defense_  and being mysteriously spared, not remembering much of the scene in between as she'd been so terribly overcome by fear and emotion. Taking a page out of both those terrorists' books, it seemed. Soon she'd find herself wandering around on rooftops.

In return, she'd received some more substantial information as well, as though in hopes of refreshing her memory somewhat. The victim had been a rich Amanto businessman and veteran, and it was his companions' searching for him that had led to the police being alerted. This hadn't been the first death to happen like this in recent times; some of the extreme Joui factions were hunting down a lot of Amanto all over town, going so far as to corner them in businesses. Ikumatsu, being a clearly victimized shop owner, was not a suspect in the murder itself but they'd found her suspicious in the past – they would take her in for further questioning if they needed to, they'd said. They'd said that before, in regards to the actions of her brother-in-law on a few occasions and the time Katsura chose her shop as the venue for a TV interview, and still had yet to do so.

As a subtle way of pointing out that Katsura hadn't been involved in this incident, she'd given – not without some feeling of spite toward all involved – a description of the man. The plain-looking officer had reacted to this first, but said nothing at the time. Why she remembered that detail she wasn't sure, but it had been the first outside indication she'd seen that that man really  _was_  a terrorist the authorities had dealt with before.

She couldn't help but get the impression they'd treated her as the victim more because she was a woman than for the other obvious reasons. But if she could benefit from that, there was really no use in questioning it.

The Shinsengumi had left when their part of the job was finished; only after the body had been taken away had she been allowed to clean anything up. Something about leaving crime scenes as they were. It had been a few days before she'd been able to re-open the shop, and she still hadn't replaced the dishes that had been broken.

The shop had been a dreadful mess, which had prompted far too much questioning, but she could hardly admit she'd been the one to throw everything – it would raise more questions, and earn her a violent reputation. She didn't know, she didn't remember. She really  _didn't_  remember throwing most of it, but that hadn't stopped the lies from burning as she spoke them. That man had failed to make a murderer of her, but he'd turned her into a liar already.

 _Lying is already an inherent part of running any sort of business_ , she could almost hear him saying as she recalled that realization.  _You've nothing to gain from deluding yourself._

Truly, "Sunglasses Samurai-san" made frequent appearances in her thoughts, taking the place of her mind's usual voice of self-criticism. She had every reason to pin any problem she saw on him, wasn't that what he'd told her not too long ago?

If only it were that simple. If only she could just hate him and call that the end. What was stopping her from calling the police now? It wouldn't only be getting rid of him, it could also improve the authorities' trust in her... yet she methodically prepared this man's dinner and resumed washing the dishes as he ate.

He must have heard the news – her lies, made public. There had been a report on the TV which she hadn't been interviewed for, and several newspaper articles which grew smaller each time as new cases and celebrity gossip filled the front page. The media showed a consistent trend of making her seem just as much a victim as the man who'd been killed, and of stating that the Shinsengumi had an idea of who the culprit was but wouldn't disclose any details lest they end up attracting his allies' attention. Ikumatsu did not often feel a need to pick up newspapers, but she'd had to read all of those stories to ensure her answers matched up with what the news said in case anyone asked her.

No one had asked, however, with the exception of Katsura, who had briefly dropped by twice since then. At first he'd seemed concerned by terrorist activity in the shop, but then he'd shifted into asking Ikumatsu various repeated questions – ranging from who he was (to which any answer but simply "Katsura" resulted in denial) and how they'd met (which he also claimed she was wrong about many details of) to useless trivia about Jackie Chan (which she assured him she never knew to begin with) – to ensure her memory damage was nothing too severe. She'd almost given in and told him she wasn't suffering amnesia, both to stop him worrying and shut him up, but in the end settled for a comment about how she'd try harder to forget about him next time.

She hadn't heard anything more about the Amanto who'd been murdered. So far as the police, the media, and even the terrorists were all concerned, it didn't matter – the Joui movement as a vague and frightening concept had committed yet another heinous act.

For all the conversations they'd had, the man had hardly grown to be any less of a vague and frightening concept himself; truly, he was a standard to which all the other extremists could compare themselves. Ikumatsu wondered what they thought of him. Did he have friends he spent time with when he wasn't busy destroying people's lives – terrorist friends, or even people outside who accepted him? Was he a leader somewhere, or did he get bossed around every day by someone even worse?

This wasn't what she wanted to know. He could keep anything that might have made him feel more human to himself; she didn't want to hear it.

Her single-minded disgust with him wasn't enough to keep her from glancing at him from time to time, wondering when he would say something. Since the first time they'd met he had made no comment either way about her cooking, rarely even going so far as to thank her. She wondered if this was because of how hard she'd shown it to be for her to take compliments, but no, he made enough of those anyhow. Though much of the time it was hard to know for sure what he was really getting at.

The general rule she'd set for herself was that if it was music-related, she wouldn't question it.

Whether he detected her impatience or simply decided it was too quiet in there (though the odds of him noticing the latter were somehow less likely), he soon looked up from his meal and asked, almost tentatively: "Ikumatsu-dono, might I ask you a question?"

This was a first – any other time, he'd have thrown a half-formed assumption at her. She frowned at him for a moment before laughing nervously. "Really, you can just ask. You don't need my permission."

"Then, if it as much trouble as you say, why is it that you do continue to run this shop?"

"Geez... asking things that aren't any of your business," Ikumatsu shook her head, turning away. "You really are a pain."

The man didn't pause a moment. "I am  _flattered_ , Ikumatsu-dono, but that is far from an answer. You must understand, I am quite curious."

"I almost thought you'd actually have accepted that. I really am a fool." She laughed, not quite bitter but not quite amused either.

"I wouldn't say that... quite the contrary, in fact. Which is why I'd like to know. You understand there are other, one might say  _better_ , options you could pursue, and yet you do not appear to have once considered them. What is it that keeps you here?"

She hesitated to think of this man as earnest, let alone  _honest_ , at any time, but he certainly gave that impression now. It almost would have been better if he was openly mocking her. At least she'd know how to respond to that.

A few quick answers popped into her head – it was what she knew how to do, it was what she loved, it was better than doing nothing at all... she sighed deeply. None of those were really it, and they would hardly suffice for someone like this. "Pardon my breach of manners here," the first part of the sentence was ironic, but her voice slowly became more sincere and she glanced back at him despite herself, "but is there something in this world that you care about?"

It was hard to tell with the sunglasses, but he appeared to look down, contemplating for a moment. "I suppose so."

"Then I don't think it would be beyond you to understand how I feel about running this shop."

"Huh. I believe I see. There is no logical reason for it at all?"

"Nonsense." This reminded her vaguely of something he had said before – or rather, how she'd felt about most of what he'd said. He would never take her seriously whether she told him what she thought or not; there was no way to get through to him. "Of course there's a reason. Maybe if you took those headphones off and listened for once, you would have heard it."

"Ah, but I am listening." There was enough humour in the way he said this to suggest he meant he was listening to something else entirely, but something else seemed to tell her,  _'go on.'_

This would be the last time she tried to tell him anything. She took several slow, deep breaths. "Someone... someone important left this place behind for me, so now I must keep it. I don't care about the country – hell, I'd topple it myself if I thought that would get rid of idiots like you – but I'll protect this shop until the end."

As he so often did before saying something he shouldn't, he gave her a look that could almost be mistaken for sympathetic. "That was what your husband would have wanted, was it?"

She scoffed. "As if I'd know. This was my own choice. We both loved this shop."

"Rather a serious reason to do something so simple... yet it is not so simple, is it?" The ramen was entirely forgotten; he watched her with a strange intensity, seeming almost at the edge of his seat despite his calm words. Not too unlike how he'd been when she'd tried to kill him, as though the only real feeling he knew how to express was interest.

He could have left it there and called that the end of his prying, but naturally he had more to say. "I suppose you have not abandoned what it was you wanted back then, either."

Whether he'd done some serious research into her personal life or only made a vague guess based on what he knew of other people who'd had the misfortune of speaking to him, he was right. She could barely restrain herself from snapping at him as she asked, "Honestly, Sunglasses Samurai-san, why do you bother with these questions if you already know this much?"

"I am only trying to better understand. To see the world through your eyes, if you will." He smirked as he echoed something she'd nearly forgotten saying to him once. "Would it be asking too much?"

"It would be!" Though she was fully aware it was the reaction he wanted, her voice rose. The emotion she'd suppressed since the man walked in the door was finally slipping out, and realizing that this was encouraging him only made her angrier. "You really are here just to cause trouble! It doesn't matter  _what_  I say, so long as it amuses you, isn't that right?"

He opened his mouth to respond, calm as ever, but she cut him off. "Here I was trying to get you to understand, but you're a lost cause, aren't you? It's not like you ever  _would_  understand any of this, you've never loved anything in your life!"

"That is not–"

"I don't want to hear it!" With that, she lashed out – not at him directly, as he leaned back out of reach, but at the not-yet-empty bowl in front of him, knocking it off the counter. He caught it without so much as flinching, though most of its contents spilled on him. Of course, the broth would only have been lukewarm at most by this point.

But she couldn't let the embarrassed flush already colouring her face at this foolishness stop her. "You're the last person I wanted to talk to about this – I never wanted to talk to you at all! What does it take to get rid of you? Just get out of here!"

Her thoughts flashed to the knife she had only just washed and put away. Maybe this time, if she didn't give him a fair warning or time to prepare... not to kill, she knew that wouldn't work, but if she could just cause an injury he couldn't ignore...

His unwavering voice broke through this impossible train of thought. "Is that... what you'd like?"

No. No, it wasn't. And that was exactly the problem. The rage drained from her and she had to lean against the counter, willing the tears not to come. "It's... I don't know what I want anymore."

He set the bowl back on the counter delicately and stood, brushing off his coat the best he could. "I could leave now, if you would prefer it."

"You don't have to – not just because I said... I'm sorry, I can help you clean that up, make another..."

"There is no need for that." He picked up his shamisen – it was hard to think of that as an instrument and not a weapon now – and slung it over his shoulder. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a large sum of money, tossing it in her direction like it was nothing. "I'd meant to leave earlier than usual tonight, anyhow."

"This is too much," she said before even counting it. And it was; he had a tendency to go a little over the price and blame it on not having any smaller bills on him, but this was easily twice as much as the meal should have cost.

"On a planet I visited recently, it was customary to pay extra at restaurants; they called it a 'tip', a compliment for excellent services. I found the concept quite charming."

 _How irritating._  "I know what a tip is, and I can't possibly keep it." Not only because it was clearly a joke, but because her service was bad enough she'd rather lower the price.

"Oh?" He tilted his head again – at the least, he was back to being ordinarily irritating and she was no longer in danger of crying – and frowned, but made no move to take his money back, instead offering: "Well, then, consider it a donation."

"Please. As if I'd accept charity from the likes of you."

He waved a hand dismissively as he moved toward the door. "I would suggest you take whatever you can get, Ikumatsu-dono."

"What do you take me for? I don't need it." This was ridiculous, on both their parts. But the man had already won, though she couldn't fathom what he was possibly trying to achieve with this.

"That does not mean you cannot use it." He opened the door now, letting the cold air and snow swirl in again. "After all, you still have something to live for."

Before she could put together a coherent response, he gave a slight nod in place of a bow and then stepped out into the night, closing the door behind him.

Not for the first time, she was left silently wondering what he could possibly have meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I wake up at 3 in the morning and think to myself, "Man. Ikumatsu has to deal with a lot of shit."
> 
> Half of this was derived from a piece I wrote last year for writing class and kept planning to share but never did, and our true final interaction on twitter a few months ago which oddly touched on similar themes. The rest was an attempt to make everything that went wrong in chapter 5 stay there. That is, ease about halfway out of murder attempts, keep only the unresolved emotional (and sexual, we will not deny) tension that needs to be here, and most importantly get the police and news reports (and concerned Katsura) out of the way with justified reasons. In the RPs the lasting drama (trauma?) from there didn't manifest as much more than perpetual wariness, the actual plot aspect of this ship never advanced past there.
> 
> The next chapter will be tomorrow already. This one was planned for last week sometime but I had to find the motivation. This was one of my favourites to think about but the most painstaking to write. The best part to me is Ikumatsu immediately turning around and apologizing. And when I say the best part I mean it hurt me but I also laughed writing it. I hope you're all enjoying this fic. I bet you all expected a crack ship.


	7. Every Year Looks Better Than The Last When It Starts, But You'll End Up Hating It Too Before The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like putting notes at the start but I need to make a few quick disclaimers. Firstly, this chapter doesn't work if you haven't read manga chapters 431-433. It's not so much a spoiler as it is entirely dependent on something we learned in that arc. You can still read it either way, but parts may not make as much sense. This whole fic is set somewhere between that arc and the arc that just ended. And secondly, this chapter isn't their next encounter after the last one. With the exceptions of 1-2 and 5-6, none of these happen right in a row. I don't write every single one of their implied interactions, only what stands out, just like any story. With that, enjoy, and have a happy New Year!

It was a quiet, cold evening.  _Which_  evening it was didn't matter. Ikumatsu simply felt like keeping the shop open later than usual that night. There was nothing strange about that in her eyes.

Apparently no one expected it, as there had been no customers since that afternoon. But of course – just like every year, they had better places to be. She didn't mind that, they all had a right to take a holiday. She'd take one herself if she wasn't the sole owner of her shop, living in the same building, with nothing to do with her time but run it. There was nothing left to do but wait now.

As it was, she stood behind the counter as always, watching the door. She'd finished her work for the day, and it was likely there would be no more during the night either. But she had a few hours left before it would be time to give up; she hadn't put anything away yet. There was little of interest to keep her occupied. Only herself and her thoughts, her steady breathing and the hum of the electric lights, the occasional noise of a person or vehicle passing by outside.

The door opened abruptly and she realized she'd nearly drifted off. A single glance told her this wasn't the man she was waiting for. A second glance, as her focus returned, told her a bit more: not only the wrong man but the one she specifically didn't want to see, his hair still the same ridiculous hue as always, sunglasses and headphones still making it a mystery how he managed to navigate the city at night, his coat's collar turned up against the chill but the zipper still only half-closed.

Though he bowed the same as always, he didn't have quite the same poise about him; he slammed the door, stumbling slightly, seeming to have just caught his breath. He carried a bag that looked to be from some sort of grocery shopping, but that had to be considered suspicious by association with him.

Ikumatsu didn't think much of this. It was only natural that this man would be here; he had made a habit of showing up at unusual and inconvenient times, and that pattern remained unbroken. She made no comment, forcing an irritated look onto her face so he wouldn't have a reason to ask what she was preoccupied by.

The man took his time sitting in his usual spot, as though compensating for the lack of care in his entrance, notably not setting the shamisen down this time. There was a faint smile on his face as he finally said, "The last night of the year, is it?"

Had she expected any other subject of conversation? She'd expected him to at least preface it with that condescending greeting of his. "I suppose it is, Sunglasses Samurai-san. What of it? I'm sure you don't have enough good in you to waste any of it wishing it on me in the new year."

Then she forced a smile and offered her usual services, as much as she didn't want to: "The menu is listed on that board, I'm sure you know that. Please let me know if I can do something for you."

This was not so much a truce as an indication that nothing he did could shake her. As though it were true.

"Ah... I will not be ordering anything tonight. I only wished to kill some time before the... New Year's party tonight." He hesitated slightly, but it wasn't even worth trying to guess why. "I figured you may have liked some company, however unwanted it may be."

"Hmph." She turned her back to him, not even bothering to pretend she was working on something. "Killing time? I suppose that's better than killing people," she said derisively. "If I was so desperate for company, I would have gone out and dragged in someone from the street. I'm not  _that_  lonely, I'll have you know."

She gulped, trying to swallow the lump in her throat before it grew too big for her to speak. She wasn't sure what bothered her more: the loneliness, or having to talk to this jerk about it. The man she waited for wasn't there, so she was stuck with this one. In most cases, it was better to have someone there than no one at all – she only wished it could at least have been someone slightly less terrible.

After taking a deep breath, she continued, "There's a new year starting. Shouldn't you be reconsidering your life choices, then?"

He laughed quietly. "I don't know, I am reasonably satisfied where I am. If anything, my resolutions would be worse than what I already do... by your standards, that is."

She could tell he was about to turn the question back to her, and she wouldn't give him that chance. It wasn't something she wanted to answer, least of all for him when she knew he would twist it somehow.

Before he could say anything more, she approached with a sly smile. "You're probably right... what kind of horrible things did you do today?"

"Laundry, paperwork, and preparations for the New Year's party. It was quite a busy day of work."

"You didn't brutally murder anyone?"

"Ah, yes, I suppose I did that too. But I would not consider that horrible. Most enjoyable, really."

Ikumatsu didn't cringe outwardly, but she couldn't be entirely sure he didn't catch her inward reaction somehow. She narrowed her eyes, knowing she would regret this but deciding to ask him more anyway. "Who was it?"

His eyebrows rose slightly, but whether he was confused or impressed by her sudden boldness was unclear. "That, I'm afraid, is classified information. And of little importance. It was one too overconfident and self-important to realize what was happening before it was too late."

"Sort of like you, then?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about."

"Why did you do it? What do  _you_  fight for?" She didn't want to hear his answers anymore, nothing could ever justify or even properly explain his actions; she was only imitating his style of making the conversation uncomfortable and one-sided.

Naturally, the irony wasn't lost on him but any sort of effect was. "Sometimes I wonder. Much of the time, it is simply on a whim."

With a slow, careful motion, as though indicating he wasn't drawing any sort of weapon, he pulled something from the bag he'd been carrying and set it on the counter. A bottle of sake – presumably an expensive one, but it was hard to be sure.

"Is that..."

"I told you, I had to make preparations for a party. But I am certain no one will miss this, no more than they should miss me so long as I arrive before midnight."

She stared at the bottle, trying to imagine this man celebrating with his fellow terrorists – no, he'd never outright claimed it was a  _terrorist_  party, it could have been any old New Year's party.

"Do the Joui really throw parties?" she asked idly. It was hard to think of them as people with normal lives. No, it was  _disturbing_. It wouldn't make sense for them to do nothing but plot and destroy things all day, or else they would have made a noticeable difference by now, but that was all she could ever imagine.

"It would depend on how a particular faction is organized. Most follow a particular tradition: some do nothing at all, some hold grand festivities, others might allow their members to take holidays with their families... and then I have heard Katsura regularly holds Uno tournaments for no reason."

"I've heard that, too. He doesn't invite you, I hope."

"I have yet to ask." Just as he'd given no indication as to which of the examples his faction was, there was nothing in his voice that suggested a particular reason for this. She liked to think he wasn't personally acquainted with Katsura, but...

But she wouldn't think too hard about it. Instead she shook her head, a hint of a real smile beginning to show through. "Honestly, this is a strange place for a drink on a night like tonight."

"Might there have been a more suitable night?"

"There are plenty of more suitable places. This is a ramen shop, you know, regardless of what you seem to be trying to turn it into."

"Bars do not particularly appreciate customers bringing their own alcohol," he said with a quiet wisdom that made Ikumatsu wonder if that was something he'd had to learn first-hand once.

"And you think I do?"

"It is not quite so much of a problem for your business." He inspected the bottle a moment, then opened it with practiced ease. "Were I to bring my own food to eat here, then you would have reason to take offense."

"I take offense the moment you walk in the door."

"I did not doubt it." The smirk he gave her didn't carry the usual sort of smugness, somehow. "May I have something to pour this in?"

She hoped he didn't expect anything fancy. "I'll see if there's anything you didn't break," she said with a huff as she opened a cupboard, grabbing a simple glass. It would've been an embarrassment to drink sake from something like that at a formal event, but it was oddly unconcerning here.

"Unless I am mistaken, it was entirely your choice to break all of that."

 _That doesn't make it any less your fault._  Ikumatsu scowled but remained quiet, holding the almost-pathetic cup out to the man.

Rather than take the glass, he brought the bottle up to it and poured delicately, filling it about halfway. Ikumatsu froze. She should have anticipated this, but it was strange. He watched her almost expectantly until she took a sip.

It was expensive sake, all right, or at the least not anything she'd had before – rich, smooth and only faintly sweet, with a flowery aroma about it.

A harsh contrast to her bitter thoughts.

A moment too late, it occurred to her that the man may have had a more sinister reason for giving her a drink... and whether he did or not, it was rude of her not to offer him the same. Setting her cup down, she snatched the bottle away and retrieved a second glass from the cupboard. This she filled almost to the top and placed in front of him.

He inclined his head and smiled in a way that could be called genuine, and somehow that was worse than any sort of mocking expression he could come up with. That he would be anything but insufferable at this point struck her as distinctly wrong. She never thought she'd want him to disgust her.

At least he disproved any suspicion that he might have done something to the sake by drinking it without hesitation. That was not to say  _quickly_ ; he sipped it as though it were only a small amount he had to make last, turning away slightly to look around the shop.

Ikumatsu did the same. There wasn't much to see – if anything, it felt emptier than usual in there. Her gaze wandered, lingering on the man's shamisen, which stood out as it was not where she was used to seeing it. Had he kept it on because he didn't intend to stay very long, or because he would be needing it?

Bringing it with him at all was practically a declaration of war, except that he seemed to carry it everywhere. That was fitting, wasn't it? Declaring war against the entire world? Either that or she was only reading too far into it. She drank more of her sake, wondering why he would do something like this...

_...Music, right?_

The silence was unbroken, which felt odd – at first she didn't consider that, but usually she could hear the man's headphones.

She wasn't nearly intoxicated enough for it to explain the idea that occurred to her, let alone excuse her finally giving words to something she'd never dared ask about before, but a question slipped out nonetheless. "The one you killed today... what kind of 'song' did that person have?"

To say the question caught him off guard would be too kind to him – he nearly choked on his drink and still didn't appear too terribly surprised. "It could be described only as easily forgettable. Or  _over_ , but I do not believe that sort of humour is to your tastes."

He was right: even spoken as a joke, the comment chilled her. "Are you saying that because you couldn't make anything up quickly enough, or so you'll feel better about ending it?"

"I am saying that as I do not recall a single part of it. Perhaps it called to mind a tired pop tune one has heard on the radio too many times for it to hold any meaning. It was not intended to be remembered."

There was nothing sad about the way he said this; he didn't regret forgetting something like that one bit. Nor did he seem to think he'd done anything he should regret, or else it should be a relief that nothing could haunt him.

Or was it the living who did that? She'd dismissed his talk of music as the ramblings of a madman or some sort of bizarre metaphor... and it still could be a combination of the two, for all she'd ever know.

"I'm sorry I bothered you with it, then," Ikumatsu said, looking only at the glass in her hand as she spoke – she'd managed to empty it without realizing. "But would it be alright if I bothered you with one more thing?"

"This is not the first time you've made such a request. I do not mind."

It was an insane thing to wonder about, made even more so by the way he showed no intent of asking her anything in return, but everything related to this man was insane. She'd tried so hard not to be drawn into it, or into anyone's madness for that matter, but in his case it almost seemed the fighting was what caused her troubles.

"What do you hear in me?"

This didn't seem to surprise him either, but he spent a moment considering it. "You are... waiting for something, is that correct?"

She frowned, watching him closely but trying not to give any sign she was any warier than usual. "I've never heard of a song that could tell you that."

"You must listen to more, then. There are many songs of the sort – mournful, yet not so hopeless as to be called  _sad_. Often they are ballads about loved ones who have gone to war, but that does not apply here." He stopped to consider, or maybe to listen more closely. Could he hear her starting to wish she hadn't asked? "Rather like such a song played on a different instrument than it might traditionally have been, marked by frustration as its performer struggles to adjust and improvise, but showing a unique potential when the expectations of the original genre are forgotten." For a second he seemed to be blushing, but it was only the effect of the alcohol – she suspected he'd had more to drink before he arrived, too. "It is truly something beautiful... but I have told you as much before."

A drunken poet, was he? "I don't deserve that kind of flattery, and I'm not sure I even want it from you."  _Considering what it was that made you feel that way, I'm not sure if I can call it a compliment at all._  "But..." she sighed. "You're right, I am waiting for someone tonight. Someone I care about very much."

He moved to pour her another drink but she pulled away – one was fine to be polite, but she didn't want to get drunk. This wasn't a night to celebrate, for her at least. It hadn't been for years.

This didn't perturb him; he refilled his own cup instead after a pause, doing away with any attempt he'd made to seem proper. "Would that be someone who is still alive, Ikumatsu-dono?"

"Of course! What were you expecting?"

Though she could say this with fierce certainty, she realized she didn't know that for sure. She hadn't seen her father since last New Year's Eve, when they had finally been reunited. It was entirely possible that he  _had_  died since then.

But no, Katsura would have been checking up on the old man regularly. It was possible that he was out searching right now, for that matter... and equally possible that he'd avoid telling her something had happened for as long as possible.

Truly, she'd be better off asking the man in front of her now to go look. For all his lying habits, he had no qualms about telling unpleasant truths.

"One never knows what to expect. I have made the mistake of jumping to conclusions far too many times, after all." He spoke more slowly than usual now, like he was taking extra care not to let his words slur. She wanted to tell him to stop that, to start being irritating again.

Well, he still  _was_  irritating. Just in a different way than she was used to.

"Is this a person who regularly arrives at this time?" he asked. "Have I disappointed you by appearing instead?"

"No, a few hours later than this. You're not breaking a tradition or anything." Part of her wanted to tell him it  _wasn't_  fine, but that was only what she was used to telling him...

"When will I have to leave, then?"

"Whenever you want. Isn't that what you always do?" She laughed. "Honestly, if I knew you would be so talkative, I wouldn't have let you drink in here."

But she would have, she knew. It was a relief not to have to sit in silence, for once. Though it pained her to admit it, no matter what he was trying to achieve by coming here when he had a party to go to, he'd managed to do some good in his own way.

She'd still trade him for the first person she saw passing by.

"I do hope you see that person tonight," the man said suddenly. "Perhaps I cannot wish you a happy New Year without sounding like a terrible liar, but I can say that much."

"Such an uncharacteristic show of kindness," she said, almost cheerfully but not without sarcasm,"are you feeling alright, Sunglasses Samurai-san?"

"Not at all, to be truthful." He stood unsteadily, draining his glass quickly and setting it on the counter. "I've no idea what might have brought this about."

"One never knows what to expect?" Ikumatsu said, imitating his tone of voice somewhat. She knew he could say something terrible at any moment, she could do something she'd regret – she might even regret this conversation later, for all she knew – but that didn't matter until it happened.

Live for today, right? That was her own philosophy, and she couldn't let it change.

"You may be on to something there, Ikumatsu-dono. Or not. Not at all."

These were unexpectedly troubling words, and on that note he must have considered his role here complete. He picked up his bag (whether it was full only of alcohol or of other supplies for a party, or even a bomb he had to drop off somewhere, she would never know) and then remembered to pick up the sake bottle he'd taken out.

"This did not have quite the kick I had hoped," he said, turning it over to read the label, then he looked back to Ikumatsu. "You may keep it, if you'd like."

"We've been over this before, I can't possibly accept that."

He frowned, apparently puzzled, but to her relief he nodded and put the top back on the bottle, returning it to the bag. "You are right; I'll have to let the other party-goers drink the rest."

"You were only offering because you don't want it?" At this, she had to stifle a laugh.

"It would be a waste otherwise. Ah, but that was rude of me." As always, he conspicuously failed to apologize. She almost didn't mind this time.

"That's right," she said, "it  _was_  rude. Now, if you're going to leave, just leave. You have somewhere to be, don't you?"

For a moment he looked about to tell her the party was a lie, but then he made up his mind. He bowed and crossed lightly – with only a slightly different gait than usual – to the door.

Ikumatsu didn't watch him after that point, turning away to put the two glasses in the sink.

It almost seemed that for once he wouldn't feel the need to have the last word, but sure enough he spoke up, so quietly she wished she could pretend not to hear it, "Thank you, Ikumatsu-dono."

By the time she'd registered it and glanced back in surprise, he was gone, leaving only faintly uneasy silence again.

After a pause, she sighed. Nothing he ever said made much sense, did it? She'd been thinking of his words as sincere for once, but the same time they could have been purely drunken nonsense, more ridiculous than usual. In hindsight, it was more unsettling than anything that he'd almost seemed to make sense in such a state.

"I have no idea what you wanted from me, Sunglasses Samurai-san, but I suppose I'm glad you found it this time," she said, aware she was speaking entirely to herself. "But that's not the question, is it? The real question..."

She shook her head, scoffing. It wasn't worth asking, if only for fear she would get an answer she didn't want.

Would she find what she was waiting for?

There was time yet before she could give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 special edition end notes. I know no one reads this version. Drunk Bansai has been a frequent joke on my RP blog, usually in the form of sending everyone completely incoherent texts at strange hours, but this chapter is how I'd really imagine him acting. Well, until he gets even more drunk and starts doing stupid things. He's a lively drunk, anyway. I, the writer, have never actually had alcohol before, on the other hand.
> 
> Man, this chapter feels cheesy compared to what I usually write. It burns my soul.


	8. Making Decisions For Yourself Doesn't Necessarily Make Them Better Decisions, It Just Makes Them Your Own

"I'm telling you, Ikumatsu-dono," Katsura insisted, "I ran out of nmaibo in the middle of a mission on three different occasions over the past month, and it was nearly my downfall. This is one of the serious issues in this world today. There really should be more places that–"

"And  _I'm_  telling  _you,_  I'm not interested. What does this have to do with me  _or_  what you're trying to do? If you're going to be a salesman, you should try somewhere that isn't someone else's place of business."

"It's not 'a salesman', it's Katsura. And I was only–"

"You could still go somewhere else!" With a sigh, Ikumatsu set a bowl in front of her long-haired customer. She wished she could pretend to be more irritated than she was; there was exasperation in her tone but no anger. "Honestly. What did I ever do to deserve this kind of trouble?"

Katsura remained steadfastly serious. "I've told you already, this is very important to the fate of..." he trailed off, inspecting the ramen with a frown. "Ah, Ikumatsu-dono? I distinctly remember ordering soba."

"Is that so?" She turned away. "That's funny, because I distinctly remember telling you to cut your hair."

"We have had this discussion before..."

"And you still haven't done anything about it. I don't see why you're so stubborn about that. Haven't you ever heard of people changing for–"

Before she could finish her sentence, she heard the shop's door slowly open – the quiet sliding somehow felt terribly loud.

 _No._  It took her a moment to turn to face the door, as though looking away would make it only her imagination. There couldn't be any more customers, it wasn't possible. Not at this hour, not when she was in the middle of serving an obvious wanted criminal.

The newcomer was only dimly lit by the lights that had been so foolishly left on outside, but with that distinctive sense of style and near-tangible aura of overconfidence about him, he was completely unmistakeable. Ikumatsu realized with a sickening lurch that being caught consorting with a terrorist was the least of her concerns.

Katsura seemed to recognize him too (well,  _of course_  he did, what had she been expecting? They were both Jouishishi, weren't they?), muttering something under his breath but not saying anything aloud yet.

And Ikumatsu wouldn't let him. Instead, she said as brightly as she could, "Good evening, Sunglasses Samurai-san. You're letting in a draft, make up your mind and either leave or come in."

Katsura shot her an incredulous look, but the man bowed slightly as though nothing was out of the ordinary, closed the door and crossed – perhaps lighter on his feet than usual – to the counter.

Only after he had settled into his usual spot and offered a suitably carefree greeting did he acknowledge the fact that he wasn't the only customer. "I had worried the shop would be closed at this hour, but this is rather a pleasant surprise." He cast only a sidelong glance in Katsura's direction. "I did not expect to see one such as yourself here."

 _Yes, you did,_  Ikumatsu was about to correct him, but Katsura replied first: "I could say the same to you."

"Katsura Kotarou... is it not  _terribly_  dangerous for you to be appearing in public at all, let alone visiting a shop you have been seen in before while it is still open?" The words seemed as much directed at Ikumatsu as Katsura, and it didn't feel quite like a simple friendly warning.

"Sometimes, we must take risks." Katsura's voice was as stiff as his posture had become; however slow he could be at picking up on things, he must have realized from the start that this man wasn't just here for a meal. "There's no need to worry, I know exactly what is at stake."

"Oh?  _Do_  you now?" This of all things seemed to be amusing. The man got to his feet – Ikumatsu tensed, and he noticed it, turning to smirk at her. "Ah, that is right; I forgot to order. Surely you should know by now without my saying as much... just the special will suffice. If that is not too much trouble for you?"

Ikumatsu scowled, but before she could make a cutting remark Katsura stood up as well, apparently to defend her. "I don't know how you two know each other, but you should not be talking to Ikumatsu-dono like that."

"Oh?  _Shouldn't_  I?" This prompted an unpleasant laugh. "It is improper, I suppose. But, how curious... she has not told you a single thing? I had assumed you would be fully aware of the situation and confront me the moment I walked in. No, I cannot lie, I  _hoped_ for it."

As he spoke, he slowly reached for his hidden sword –  _no, no, no._

"I won't tolerate this," Ikumatsu said, painfully aware her voice was shaking. "If you two are going to fight, the least you can do is take it outside."

If only that were really what concerned her.

With an almost leisurely motion, the man with the headphones drew his blade and struck.

In the same moment, Katsura drew his own sword and blocked the blow. Ikumatsu started toward him but he shook his head at her before moving into an attack of his own.

This, too, seemed only to be a warning, and was avoided easily. Neither of them wanted to be caught making the first drastic move, did they? But just as she thought that, they both proved her wrong, throwing themselves into more violent attacks. Those could be killing blows if they landed as intended, someone was going to die... the unreasonable part of her brain panicked, but she refused to accept that as the only way this could end.

Still, it was hard to feel relieved at Katsura seeming to gain the upper hand when he was just as often the one being pushed back – one time hitting a table, knocking it over, but not hesitating for a moment – and harder yet to cheer him on with the thought in mind that he'd be willing to kill someone for her sake.

She could hardly watch. Not only was she so disturbed by this she nearly gave in to the instinctive need to look away, but their moves were becoming difficult to follow. She knew from her own pathetic attempt at fighting that man that he was quick, but from a bystander's perspective he seemed impossibly so. Yet Katsura could keep up with him – something she'd never doubted, however frightening the implications were when she considered it. They looked to be fairly evenly matched, in an unsettling way.

It didn't take long for them to notice their similar skill levels, either: something which made Katsura uneasy while the other man seemed to become more confident. As though this was what he wanted the whole time.

No, without a doubt it was. She wondered what he would claim to hear now.

Ikumatsu felt herself shifting toward the end of the counter, though she knew there was nothing she could do and it would be safer to stay in the kitchen. Her eyes remained fixated on the battle, but she knew nothing about how a sword fight was supposed to go, what sorts of techniques they used, or how effective any of this was. They'd become little more than flashes of colour, jumping and dodging, lunging at one another or twisting around, swords crashing together but not causing any injury that could slow either of them down.

In truth, it was starting to look like a lot of showing off to her, more a strange dance than anything with lives at stake, but with a mutual understanding that it could change at any moment. The slightest mistake or opening could bring an immediate end to this. And when that inevitable point came... she could only hope it wouldn't be one of the worse outcomes she could imagine.

They were fighting  _because of her_ , the thought hit suddenly. Surely this had been planned in advance on that horrible man's part, but this turn of events would never have been possible if she hadn't gotten involved with them both.

What a fool she'd been, reading so far into things.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, the two came to an abrupt stop: their swords clashed, but rather than quickly spring apart again they both stood still. Breathing heavily, bearing no more wounds than a few shallow cuts, silently daring each other to move, or else trying to push past each other's defenses. It seemed that would be impossible as well, they both held their stances so firmly...

Katsura seemed suddenly to give up, allowing his blade to be pushed back only to force it forward again, at a different angle – the other man's grip slipped.

They both froze as the sword clattered to the floor. After a moment, Katsura raised his own again and shifted his stance as though readying himself to continue regardless, but continued to hold his ground.

Somehow Ikumatsu doubted his adversary, who was now adjusting his headphones and inspecting a cut on his cheek with no attempt to retrieve the fallen weapon, would have done the same. For that matter, he might still have been plotting something.

"Will you not fight?" Katsura asked, more expressing confusion than challenging him.

"There is no need; victory is already yours." He examined the blood on his fingers, returning to a more casual stance. "You have proven yourself the better of us... though I daresay that is not too difficult a thing to prove. You've a right to do as you see fit from here." When Katsura didn't seem any less uncertain, he laughed softly. "Well? Did you not wish to teach me a lesson? You intend to protect Ikumatsu-dono from me, after all..."

"She would never forgive me," Katsura said firmly, though he didn't lower his sword just yet.

"For making a mess in her shop, or for wasting your time on someone so clearly not worth it?"

"You–"

" _Stop it!_ " Ikumatsu dashed out from behind the counter, stepping between the two of them. She wasn't willing to look at either of them as she took a deep breath, struggling to regain her composure. "I refuse to let you fight over me. To be having this argument in my presence, when neither of you even bothered to ask what I wanted? You should be ashamed."

Katsura fell silent, likely  _very_  ashamed, but the real offender only replied smoothly, "This is a ramen shop. Have you not made it your job to give people what they want without them offering the same to you?"

Ikumatsu turned on him, and before she realized what she was doing one of her hands gripped the front of his coat, the other clenched into a fist at her side. Katsura's voice sounded faintly behind her, but whatever he said didn't register. He'd been right about one thing – she  _wouldn't_  forgive his interference. This was her own battle. "If you still want a lesson, that can be arranged."

The man remained, as per usual, disproportionately nonchalant, wiping more blood from his face. "I take it I will not be having any ramen tonight?"

"Or any night after this! I'll be damned if I ever let you in here again!" She stood on her toes to yell in his face as he effortlessly resisted being pulled down to her level. "You were never welcome here to begin with, and to think after all this time you were only hanging around so you could fight Katsura-san!"

The man's eyebrows shot up; when he spoke, his tone  _almost_  seemed genuinely troubled. "Is that... really what you believe?"

" _It is,_ " the words came out almost in a growl; for once, she didn't allow uncertainty to take hold of her. "I'm done putting up with this– this–"

"Nonsense?" he offered, his usual impassive expression returning.

"I was thinking  _bullshit_." If she looked closely, she could see his eyes. They were every bit as unreadable as the rest of his face, and she wondered why she cared to search in the first place. What had she  _ever_  been looking for? It was infuriating, every single thing about him was... "I'm only going to say this once, so listen up, you ass–"

"Kawakami Bansai."

"What?"

"That is my name. You asked quite early in our acquaintance and at last you have been given an answer. You've no longer a need to call me such foolish and impolite words instead."

"As if  _that_  was why I–" She cut herself off, realizing there could only be one reason he would be giving her his name so late: it no longer mattered, he saw no reason to be worried she'd use it against him. Which meant...

She released her grip, her feet flat on the floor once more; her hand hung uselessly in the air in front of her. "Are you really..."

Bansai, as he was now named, took a short step back and bowed deeply. "It has been a pleasure," he said, and there was not any scorn in his voice, though his face could have been hiding anything.

And then, to Ikumatsu's disbelief, he took her still-outstretched hand and pressed it gently to his lips.

In some places in the world, this would be considered a respectful gesture. The Hokutoshinken was no such place. After a second's stunned pause, she pulled her hand free and slapped him hard across the face.

This earned her an awful little smirk.

Ikumatsu could feel Katsura staring. There was no way she'd be explaining all of this to him. She couldn't say she understood it too well herself, for that matter.

Half of her still wanted to beat some sense into Bansai, but she'd known him long enough by now to understand it would be nothing but a waste of energy to try. Her anger was already gradually ebbing, replaced by a vague apprehension. She couldn't even gather the words to say any of what she wanted to express.

"I regret not being able to hear more, but..." he glanced slowly between Ikumatsu and Katsura, who had now finally chosen to sheathe his sword, and nodded. "You've enough to deal with as it is, do you not? I should apologize for..." he caught himself, seeming to take some effort in correcting his statement, "no, I  _do_  apologize for the trouble I have caused."

"I can't accept that apology," Ikumatsu said, crossing her arms, then added after a brief pause, "Kawakami-san. No, it's more that I don't believe you mean it."

"Ah, I had hoped not. It would have been somewhat concerning if you did believe me." Apparently having nothing more he needed to say, he turned to leave. He retrieved his sword almost as an afterthought, putting it away as he opened the door.

Then he paused, glancing back as though he expected something. "Do you not intend to say goodbye?"

Ikumatsu huffed. "Is that all? If you wanted me to see you off with a smile, you should have left a long time ago, before you lost all my respect."

"I had your respect to begin with? This comes as quite the revelation."

"It should!"

"Surely you feel I've ruined everything. Perhaps you can reconsider that, now that I will no longer be here to obstruct your clear thinking."

" _Perhaps_  you'll find yourself reconsidering some things as well." The last thing she needed was to be reconsidering any of this, especially when he seemed to enjoy her second-guessing herself. "Don't you ever learn from your mistakes?"

"Afraid not, Ikumatsu-dono." For a second there was a fleeting hint of a smile on his face, but it vanished quickly. "But I cannot stay any longer; you have made yourself very clear... and I've elsewhere to be. Farewell."

He gave another bow, then stepped out the door without wasting another moment.

He'd left for the last time, the thought sank in slowly.

"So long, Kawakami-san," Ikumatsu said quietly, then shouted after him in hopes he'd hear it, "And good riddance!"

For a moment she stayed where she was, almost expecting him to come back and tell her it was a joke, that he'd be returning next week as usual and pretending none of this had ever happened, with some inane comment about music thrown in there somewhere too. But he did no such thing, and finally she forced herself to move, quickly returning to her place behind the counter. It was about time she washed those dishes; terrorist fights weren't going to make that happen for her.

Still... that man – she'd considered him a nameless, despicable thing for too long to start properly thinking of him by a name now – may have been gone, but it would be a long time before he left her thoughts. It was hard to convince herself he could feel anything at all, so she didn't know where to begin with thinking about what he'd been thinking just now. But maybe she didn't have to. If he hadn't wanted to leave, he would have just stuck around against her wishes. Was telling him to go all she'd ever had to do, or were there other factors she wasn't thinking about? No, he'd only ever wanted to fight Katsura, and took a brief interest in her in the meantime, that was what she'd decided and he had not denied it. And as for herself...

As for herself, she'd done what she had to. Was that not what he would say of his own misguided choices? Perhaps she was no better than he was in that, but at least she hadn't hurt any innocent people in the process. And she'd actually  _accomplished_ something, finally winning against the part of herself that had kept letting him come back.

She was dimly aware of Katsura returning quietly to his seat, not touching the bowl of ramen still sitting on the counter. "...So, Ikumatsu-dono..." After a long silence, he spoke up, apprehensive.

"I'd rather not talk about it," she said. At least, not until she'd had a chance to think this over herself. Then there could be questions. She had some of her own, too.

"That was not what I was going to ask. May I have my soba now?"

Ikumatsu raised her eyebrows, but began to giggle despite herself, covering her mouth with her hand.

Did she really expect any more than this from men who couldn't even grasp the concept of reasonable hairstyles?

"You know what? I think I'll make soba tomorrow's special."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after. Except for Bansai, who broke into a run not even ten steps out the door and went and wrecked shit. Wrecking shit is his job, of course, he would have done it either way...  
> This chapter was originally a drabble titled "Closure", which was some thousand words shorter and written by me to end the plot between these two after Shyra gave up on her Ikumatsu blog. The working title for this version of it was "We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank", stolen from a Modest Mouse album, which I thought appropriately summed up my feelings for this whole thing. But in the end I decided on another goofy Gintama-esque chapter title pointing out that Ikumatsu has finally made up her mind.
> 
> The "Is that really what you believe?" line is a callback to Bansai asking the same thing back in chapter 4, which made Ikumatsu unsure, and then her answer contrasts with her apology in chapter 6. And you can do your own work to catch all the cross-references and echoes and foreshadowing throughout the story. I'm not that big of a show-off.
> 
> Honestly I could fill a whole 'nother... however many words this fic has, 25k without including the author's notes? words with what Bansai felt about this whole thing. He's the one I normally write, I just borrowed Ikumatsu for a bit here. But I feel like the effect is stronger if I only obliquely imply he has feelings at all, with Ikumatsu not understanding. He loved her, you know. But it wasn't the healthy romantic love that becomes a lasting relationship. This was always doomed to end like this, something he knew better than anyone.  
> Bansai expressed a wish to fight both Gintoki and Katsura back in the Benizakura arc. He got to fight Gintoki a long time ago but never got to go after Katsura in canon (and probably never will now, looking at the way things have been going), so I used that. It was not the premise of the Bansai/Ikumatsu ship in the first place, though we've noticed since that if you want to call this a love triangle in any way, you should consider Katsura the one being fought over. Something went wrong. Oh so terribly wrong.  
> Half of me wants to go on but the other half wants to let our dear readers do the commentary from here on out. Ikumatsu stopped being a reliable narrator (as far as Bansai is concerned, with some startling episodes where she can't narrate anything right thrown in there too) about halfway through the first chapter, so throughout the whole fic it's really up to your personal interpretation what Bansai is thinking. We know he's a liar too, more by omission than outright false statements later on.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you've all enjoyed this fic. Presumably you wouldn't be still here to read this if you weren't. I hope you'll be here to support me with whatever I write next.


End file.
